Sanity's Serenade
by MysteryMadchen
Summary: After Sam wakes up in a hospital, with injuries he can't remember, he worries both doctors and hunters alike as he seems to be slipping from reality.  Can he be saved? No beta,you are warned...
1. Chapter 1

****This is a story for the Sam/Jared birthday exchange over at CWESS. This story is in no way made for profit and is simply for fun.****

**A/N: When I got my challenge I was really worried because I wasn't at all sure how I was going to take the wonderful Vonnie's idea and make a story out of it. I hope this is even marginally close to what you had in mind!**

**Prompt info:**

**Vonnie: What I would like.**

**1. My 2nd prompt from the Secret Santa exchange:Dean is missing, or at least that's what Sam thinks. In reality he is there and everyone can hear and see him but Sam, who is under a spell by the monster of the week. While Sam is talking to everyone, trying to figure out where he is, everyone around him, including Dean thinks Sam has gone nuts.**_**Bonus points for lots of hurt/limp Sam, awesome Dean, Bobby and/or John. **_

**SUMMARY: **After Sam wakes up in a hospital, with injuries he can't remember, he worries both doctors and hunters alike as he seems to be slipping from reality. Can Dean and Bobby get him back on track before he's deemed a ward of the state and institutionalized for good?

Title: Sanity's Serenade

At first it felt like any other morning; scratchy, placid sheets, lumpy, practically non-existent mattress, a Q-tip sized pillow made of rocks, and the ever-present bout of unintended light blasting offensively through ratty, butt-ugly curtains. Just another fantastic day in the land of Winchester. The moment he heard "**Code blue in room 335**", however, his perception of normalcy shattered, leaving him with a bitter taste of reality only a pressure washer could dissolve. Knowing this wasn't the typical morning routine at a fleabag motel like those he'd grown up with, his big brother lazily snoring mindlessly in the bed next to his, he felt his tepid blood run cold. .

"_What the hell?_" Sam thought trying to gain his bearings. The more conscious he became, the more he wished he hadn't. It seemed every portion of his body found some unique and unusual way to be in pain and the more he moved, breathed, thought…the more it worsened. This realization, accompanied with the knowledge he was in a hospital bed made a flash of panic well up in his throat and staunch his empty, aching stomach. Again Sam's brain flashed to his previous thought…"_What the hell?"_

Finally, deciding he'd have to face the cause for yet another hospital stay, Sam Winchester peeled open a pair of goopy, sand laden eyes and greeted the world around him. As the blob sitting to the left of him slowly came into focus, Sam was able to make out the very distinct form of one rough, disgruntled looking Bobby Singer awkwardly encased in a restless slumber.

It must have been a long night, Sam thought, taking in the haggard sight before him. The man's usually gritty clothes, were even more so, wrinkled and dislodged from their normal formats resembling those of a 99 cent grab pile at any run down thrift store. His signature, tarnished ball cap resting precariously on disheveled hair. From what Sam could tell, the guy'd somehow managed to fall asleep, rather uncomfortably, in the wheelchair that was now his only form of mobility. Yet another thing pulling pain into Sam's world, the fact that he was the cause of the man's debilitating disability.

A twinge of sadness assaulted Sam's psyche as he thought of the Bobby from earlier years, heck, earlier months for that matter. The one who could walk, hunt, and kick ass all in one breath. Sam knew he'd done that to him, to the man he considered one step below a father and in some ways so much more. Even though it had been Bobby's hand that actually plunged the serrated knife deep into his gut, dislodging the spinal cord, it was Sam who had delivered the initiating blow setting the chain of events in motion.

"Bobby?" Sam asked, surprised at just how dry and tender his throat actually was. His voice the consistency of sticky, granulated sand.

The older man's eyes trembled under wrinkled lids, but other than that, the younger hunters words went unabated. With a little more force Sam tried again, first clearing his throat to get the full advantage of his deep voice.

"Bobby! Hey old man, wake up." He called, clearer this time.

The elevation in noise seemed to do the trick as Bobby Singer was welcomed back to the land of the living with a hasty jerk and a irritated grunt.

Blinking the youngest Winchester into view, Bobby refocused himself and smiled at the bright, wide hazel eyes meeting his own.

"Bought Damn time you woke up, ya damn idgit." Bobby cleared his throat. "I thought you were gonna sleep all day."

Sam smiled and readjusted his position in the mechanical bed, wincing at the new aches it created.

"What the heck am I doing here Bobby?" Sam's forehead wrinkled as concern etched across his almond features. "And where the hell's my brother? Is Dean ok?" The last phrase spoken on the heels of panic.

Bobby gave his young friend a heavy look and glanced over the side of Sam's broad shoulder. Before lightening his features.

"You and you brother were investigating claims of a ghost out by Becker's Lake when you got caught off guard." Bobby chuckled. "I would have paid to see it, I'll tell you that. You went ass over tea kettle and did an awkward swan dive down the side of an embankment. You're damn lucky you're in such good shape kid or you might not be here right now. You could have broken your neck or your back, it was pretty shallow where you landed."

Bobby patted the tattered armrest's of his constant companion.

"Then we'd both be sporting wheels." He took a deep breath. "Any of this ringing your bells, Sam?"

Sam did his best to search his scattered memories, but couldn't, for the life of him, remember any of what Bobby was talking about. As a matter of fact, the last thing he remembered was eating at some trucker dive outside of Michigan.

Shaking his head, Sam slumped back down into the shotty mattress and sighed.

"I got nothing, Bobby."

"Head injury." Bobby ground out, once more looking past Sam's shoulder.

_Was it just Sam or did Bobby seem to be focusing on his attention on something other than Sam? _Ignoring his paranoia the injured hunter continued on his path of uncomfortable discovery.

"So, I did a swan dive into a lake?" Sam considered the premise. "But that still doesn't explain where my brother is. Did Dean get hurt to?" Panic was beginning to overtake Sam's weary physique. Usually when somebody avoided a question it was because they didn't want to upset the one that asked it. Especially in their line of work. Sam had done it himself enough times to recognize the process.

Bobby straightened himself in his chair and gave Sam a look resting between bewilderment and shock. It was then that Sam figured he was missing something but for the life of him he couldn't fathom what that could be.

_Was Bobby trying to gain the courage to tell him Dean was hurt badly? Was this his way of telling him Dean had finally had enough of his spazzmatic brother and went off to find Michael and end this whole angels versus Demons thing once and for all?_

_**No**_! Sam thought, Dean wouldn't leave him, not when he was unconscious in a hospital bed. Not with out knowing he was ok. Sam's blood flushed with icy rapids. That, of course, left only one terrifying option, Dean was hurt, and hurt bad.

"I'm serious Bobby," Sam demanded, his voice now stern and unmoving, his own injuries and constant pain forgotten.

"Where's my brother?"

Concern replaced anger as the youngest hunter continued.

"It's bad, isn't it?"

Before Bobby could answer there was a knock at the doorway and a tall, slender man in royal blue scrubs wearing a wrinkled doctors coat entered the room. He looked to be about forty years old, shaded by timeless exhaustion and to much caffeine.

The man's skin was a waxy beige color and his unruly ebony hair was littered with random clumps of sporadic silver. It didn't take an introduction for Sam to realize this, over worked and underpaid individual, was his doctor.

"I hope I'm not interrupting." The mans voice was clear, but uninterested, bland even. He held a small black laptop in the crook of his arm and moved without invitation towards his newest patient. If Sam's instincts were still intact he'd say the guy was beyond board with his current engagement and simply counting the seconds to quitting time.

"I'm Doctor Marston, Mr. Singer, I'm glad to see you've decided to join the land of the living."

The man sported a pseudo smile as he made his introduction. With the extension of his hand he shifted the laptop enough to properly shake the young man's appendage and quickly pushed past the always uncomfortable greetings.

Once the formalities were put in there place, Dr. Marston pulled a chair up from the corner of the room and opened his laptop. Secretly, Sam wondered why the man had chose to drag a chair from across the room when there was a perfectly acceptable one sitting right next to his bed, but for the moment he let it slid.

"You took quite a nasty fall, Mr. Singer, your going to have to take it easy for a while and give yourself sufficient time to heal. Although you managed not to break anything, it's going to be some time before those rib's of yours are back to normal. Mix that with the nasty concussion and bruised kidney you managed to pick up, and I'd say your going to have to move slowly for the next few weeks." The doctor's tone was not only lacking interest, but emotion as well.

At least, Sam thought, he wouldn't be heart broken and riddled with guilt if he had to leave this physician holding the bag as he slipped out of the hospital in the middle of the night. _This man is completely with out personality_! Sam continued, his brain still back peddling to catch up with the situation. Trying to reign in his growing discontent for the medic addressing him, Sam knew it was time to get the answers Bobby had denied him.

"So, I'm good then, I can leave if I want to?" Sam questioned, even further annoyed as the practitioner now refused to look him in the eyes.

The doctor shook his head glancing in the direction of the empty chair he'd passed up when choosing his current sitting apparatus.

_Did this guy have a lazy eye or something_, Sam contemplated, _the dudes talking to an empty chair for God's sake! _

"Not at all." He said still looking at the chair, paying no mind to Sam or his question.

"He's got some healing to do and he'll have to take it easy for a few weeks, but baring any unforeseen complications I'd say your brother should be back to normal fairly quickly."

Sam felt a surge of relief wash over him. The guy must be referring to Dean. _Thank God_, he thought. He must have heard him asking Bobby how his brother was when he was at the door. Why the dumb ass was staring at an empty chair as he did it or why there was an agonizingly long delay of answer, Sam couldn't fathom, but at least he'd gotten a response regarding his brother.

"So Dean's ok then?" Sam asked completely oblivious to the strange looks he received from both Bobby and the physician.

Looking back at Sam, Dr. Marston's brows furrowed in obvious confusion. Something unfathomable concerning Sam played like an orchestra in the man's deep grey eyes.

"Excuse me?" He asked generally confused by the young man's question.

"My brother, Dean, He's going to be ok, right?"

The doctors glance once more reached the empty chair, then to Bobby, and back again, before meeting Sam's stern gaze.

"Was your brother hurt as well?" He asked slowly, trying to be as clear as possible with his questioning.

Sam was really starting to get irritated now and it was evident in his commanding voice.

"Well he's not here and my brother's always here when I end up in a place like this, sooooo, yeah, I'm guessing he had to be. Didn't you treat him? Isn't he here in a hospital bed too?." Sam chuckled. "What'd you have to do, tie him to the bed?"

Turning to Bobby, who had a look that could only be explained as complete shock plastered over his gruff face, Sam felt even more uncomfortable and generally lost.

"What!" Sam demanded, starting to feel like the only sane person in a room of crazies.

"I am speaking English right? Where the hell's my brother, what aren't you two telling me?"

Bobby released the breaks on his wheelchair and pushed himself closer to the youngest Winchester, worry now over taking the shock that once laid residence to his features.

"Sam, Dean's right there. He's sitting on the other side of your bed, kid. He hasn't left your side since you were brought in."

Bobby took a deep, calming breath before his shock and bewilderment got the better of him.

"Boy if this is some kind of joke it's not funny, you have a head injury you can't kid around about this kinda stuff. Besides all that, stupid pranks are your brother's forte."

Sam liked dried lips and thrust a bruised hand through messy, tangled hair.

"D…Dean's not here Bobby." He stated staring at the empty seat to his right.

Dr. Marston glanced at both Bobby and the empty chair before clearing his throat.

"Sam what do you see when you look at that chair?" He asked pointing to the item in question.

Sam felt his body go numb, _what the hell_? _I see an empty chair! _he thought trying to figure out what was going on. _Had everybody lost their freaken minds?_

Straight faced and completely controlled Sam answered.

"I see an empty seat, what else would I see?"

Suddenly Bobby was talking over the top of him and his words shook Sam to his very core.

"I don't know you damn idgit! Do I look like the doc? I don't know what the hell's going on either, but he obviously doesn't know your there. Now calm the hell down or your going to have a heart attack for Christ's sake."

Bobby's gaze moved around the room as something only he and the doctor could see moved towards them.

"Sam." Bobby began, cautious and gentle, as if speaking to a young child.

"Can you see your brother, he's standing right here." The older wheelchair bound man waved his arm in the air signifying a shape Sam couldn't see.

Sam felt his body go ridged. The aspect of pain was now all but forgotten and replaced by a heavy coat of panic and discontent.

"No." He managed, the last of his saliva leaving his tongue and settling somewhere deep in the depths of his increasingly agitated gullet.

Bobby shook his head and glared in the direction he had indicated Dean to be.

"Damn it boy I don't know! Now calm the hell down! It's probably the head injury or something." He stopped, seemingly listening to words Sam was unable to hear.

"No I don't understand it either but I'm sure the doc here has seen this sort of thing before, right doc?"

Dr. Marston's once sluggish shoulders went straight and stern as he processed the scene before him. In the most timid voice he could muster he addressed his patient and the worried family standing beside him.

"Sam, do you have a headache? Any pain or discomfort behind your eyes? Ringing in your ears? Anything like that?"

Sam shook his head. "I'm sore as hell doc, but no, no real headache. What's going on here?"

The doctor suddenly stood and focused his attention back on the others in the room. "If you men wouldn't mind I think it would be wise for me to exam my patient."

Without room for further argument both Dean and Bobby were ushered out of the small enclosure.

_**A/N: Ok I know I'm really REALLY late with this fic and I apologize to both any readers and of course to Vonnie. Life has been one giant mess for me lately and I just couldn't get my writing and my life to co-exist. I hope that everybody enjoys and that Vonnie is at least entertained. I will be posting a chapter every few days. Thanks to the readers and thanks to CWESS for everything, Nicole. **__**J**_


	2. Chapter 2

**This is a story for the Sam/Jared birthday exchange over at CWESS. This story is in no way made for profit and is simply for fun.**

A/N: When I got my challenge I was really worried because I wasn't at all sure how I was going to take the wonderful Vonnie's idea and make a story out of it. I hope this is even marginally close to what you had in mind!

Prompt info:

Vonnie: What I would like.

1. My 2nd prompt from the Secret Santa exchange:Dean is missing, or at least that's what Sam thinks. In reality he is there and everyone can hear and see him but Sam, who is under a spell by the monster of the week. While Sam is talking to everyone, trying to figure out where he is, everyone around him, including Dean thinks Sam has gone nuts._Bonus points for lots of hurt/limp Sam, awesome Dean, Bobby and/or John. _

**SUMMARY: **After Sam wakes up in a hospital, with injuries he can't remember, he worries both doctors and hunters alike as he seems to be slipping from reality. Can Dean and Bobby get him back on track before he's deemed a ward of the state and institutionalized for good?

Title: Sanity's Serenade

A/N: No beta here, all mistakes are mine. You've been warned. : )

**Chapter two:**

Having decided his patient needed another MRI to confirm his suspicions, Dr. Marston quickly whisked Sam off to imaging in order to verify the hypothesis running ramped throughout his mind. Overly confident in the future Mr. Singer would be facing, considering the newly presented symptoms, the practitioner figured he'd need all the proof he could muster in order convince the overbearing family of his undeniable diagnosis. Just one more reason, Daniel Marston, wished he'd gone into law like the rest of his family, even with the title of "Doctor" people never seemed to take his word at face value.

The human population, in general, upset Dr. Marston, but throw in those of the Singer's caliber; annoying, brazen, undereducated, and willful, and you had a recipe for disaster. Daniel had seen these types many times before, being forced to work off his tenure in the backwoods of nowhere and hated them above all else. These people where your basic know it all hillbillies, so far beneath him it made his skin curdle. At least with the law, as his father had so delicately pointed out his first visit to the skimpy little hospital, he'd have been paid a retainer for indulging in such stupidities. It was too bad the injured brought forth in these parts, had to have such rabble as family. How could they ever dig themselves out of it and find a road to civilization when those around them blocked their paths?

With a deep sigh of impatience, Dr. Marston dove back into the task at hand. Congratulating himself on such a momentous find he knew he should take comfort in the silence of the exam room because soon enough it would be replaced with colorful profanities. Yet another reason he missed Boston and all its luxuries, at least there manners could be found in the dictionary. Daniel smirked to himself, heck even dictionaries could be found in Boston, here it was hit or miss if the locals could read the phone book, most of them calling "the idiots guide hunting" there bible.

It took a little over two hours, Dean and Bobby both pacing and rolling, respectively, in the hallway before a set of orderlies wheeled their youngest back to his room. Other than briefly mentioning to the men that an additional doctor had been called to check his patient over, it was another half an hour before the pompous doctor finally appeared and delivered his findings. At that point Dean was a stones throw away from exploding. His worry and fear playing like a kaleidoscope across his frazzled features.

Closing the heavy door behind him, the weary physician displayed a bleak expression as he approached the young man's family. To most people, he appeared abrasive and uncaring, which to some degree life and lack of praise had made him, but there was still a small part of him that really didn't like giving this kind of news, especially in regards to those so young. They may be beneath him, but tragedy still negated tragedy.

Although he wasn't an expert in psychosis, Daniel Marston, did recognize schizophrenic tendencies when he saw them. This case was spot on, in his opinion, and he wasn't about to let it slip through his fingers. While usually manifesting by way of seeing things that were not there, instead of not seeing those that were, he still couldn't deny the athletic man behind the door was of perfect age for the condition to manifest. Include the fact that he seemed to be under a considerable amount of stress and it was just one more nail in his patient's already sturdy coffin.

From the various scars the doctor saw when examining the kid and the multiple healed bones his x-rays displayed, it was easy to tell Samuel Singer had had a hard life and finally cracked from years of preparation. Add in the fact that he and his overbearing brother had been traipsing around the forest in less than favorable conditions, trying to train for some insane adventure competition, which the eldest sibling had openly admitted was pushed on his little brother, and the medic had no doubt Sam must have plummeted right over the edge of his dwindling sanity along with the embankment. The final tendrils of reason snapping with his unintended plummet into a less then friendly lakebed.

"I'm sorry to have kept you out here for so long, gentlemen, but I had to make sure Sam wasn't suffering any originally unforeseen complications due to his head injury."

Coming right out with it, as he wasn't one to beat around the bush, Dr. Marston continued speaking.

"Mr. Singer, has your brother ever been diagnosed with Schizophrenia or any other forms of mental illness?"

Dean's body tensed as he shot from the cold plastic chair he'd just settled into.

"Excuse me?"

The oldest brother's eyes turned dark and filled with a black rage as he spoke. It was haunting enough, that it made the doctor wonder just what Sam had really had to endure at the hands of his sibling growing up, but still Daniel didn't waver. Visibly unfazed, yet mentally making a note to update his security, the doctor continued.

"Has your brother ever been diagnosed with any kind of mental illness? Is there mental illness in your family?"

"No, of course not!" Dean's faced contorted as the implications of the man's statement took hold. "Why? What are you trying to tell me, my kid brother's nuts?"

Bobby, not liking the arrogant way Dr. Marston approached his questioning, finally stepped into the conversation.

"You think Sam's got some kind of mental illness?" He questioned, obviously not convinced.

"The kid just got flung off a cliff, for God's sake, wouldn't it make more sense for him to be suffering from some kind of head trauma?"

Dr. Marston stood his ground and straightened his shoulders once more.

"If Sam were exhibiting signs of head trauma he would, at the very least, have a headache or memory issues, even problems with mobility, lucky for him he's seemed to avoid those outcomes."

The Doctor shook his head.

"But he isn't. He knows who he is, knows who you are, and understands that he's having troubles by not recognizing his brother is in the room. If Sam couldn't speak or reason, move his body, or even if he couldn't see proportions, that would be one thing, but he can. It's as if Sam has blocked his brother from his consciousness. My guess is that Dean is some kind of mental stress for his brother and that's causing him to block him out. Subconsciously of course." The doctor finished purposely, allowing an air of arrogance to float on the resonance of his words.

"So you want me to believe that my brother was perfectly sane one minute and the next he's bonkers, that doesn't fly doc. That's bullshit!"

_Oh here come the profanities_, Daniel thought preparing for the battle.

Dean's hands were now fisted at his sides, his body erect and ready to throw a punch any second. Like a caged animal, the eldest Winchester stalked his pray, pacing in circles of nervous energy around the abstinent physician. How dare this Jack Ass accuse him of hurting his little brother, even, "_subconsciously,_" as the man had sarcastically put it.

"Calm down Dean." Bobby warned knowing where this was heading. "We don't need you being carried off by security."

Bobby looked up at the Doctor, his height deficit really irritating him at this moment.

"What my overbearing nephew is trying to get across, is that Sam's the most sane person around, smart as hell to. The kid got a full scholarship to Stanford, he's not an idiot he'd have known something was wrong. There's no way he could just go nuts over night. Trust me he's been through a lot and he's still standing, so it's gotta be something else. You need to check him again, cause there's something you've obviously missed."

Dr. Marston mentally rolled his eyes. This was another reason he hated giving news like this to families, especially those like Sam's, they always thought they knew best, even though they weren't educated and didn't have a valuable opinion to stand on.

"Mr. Singer, Dean, we think Sam has schizophrenia, it's not uncommon and, educated or not, it can consume you practically over night."

Before either man could interject the doctor put his hand up halting there rebuttals.

"With this disorder it is common for a person to be fine one day and just snap the next. Sam's the perfect age for this condition to manifest, text book really. And to add to the relevancy, it's usually a traumatic experience, in the mind of the patient, that pushes them over the edge. When Sam fell off the embankment it must have been the last straw in a stress filled life and the disorder was allowed to take him over. I'm sorry to be the one to have to tell you this, but, the resident psychiatrist I brought in to consult agrees with me. Samuel has a very serious mental illness and he's going to need proper treatment to cobat it."

Dean's blood was boiling with each syllable that spilled from the uptight pricks tiny, tight lipped mouth. This was ridiculous, just plain, fucking, ridiculous! The man obviously had a lot of time on his hands and was looking for a breakthrough to rescue him from his current working conditions.

"Schizophrenics see things that aren't there, dude, they're paranoid. My brother's the most boring, rational, level headed person on the planet. The guy counts fat grams and eats salads for crying out loud. You can't seriously think he's schizophrenic, he's not even seeing me, let alone a giant purple elephant dancing in the freaken coroner."

Impressed that Dean did have some book knowledge hiding in that big, obstinate brain of his, Bobby took his opportunity to interject.

"I'd have to agree with the kid on this one doc, your diagnosis doesn't make a lick of sense."

Dr. Marston took a deep, calming breath before continuing.

"As I was saying, this condition can hit, seemingly out of nowhere. It commonly manifests when a person is in their late twenties and although it is very unusual, a lack of visual perception can occur. My guess is that Sam is, in fact, seeing things that aren't there but doesn't want to mention it as he doesn't want to seem insane. If he's as intelligent as you say, then he must realize he's experiencing something odd and want's to keep it to himself. Really it's good that he was unable to acknowledge you Dean, because it has given us the opportunity to recognize his disorder before he comes unhinged and hurts himself or someone else. A lot of schizophrenics present, initially, with violent tendencies. With your brother, we were able to catch it before that happened and with medication he should be able to live a relatively normal life."

"You're not medicating my brother you quack. I want a second opinion and I want him released from this hospital right now!" Dean seethed.

"I'm afraid that's not going to happen, Mr. Singer. Your brother had a bout of anxiety while the psychiatrist was speaking to him and we had to sedate him in order to calm him down. He's a big guy and we didn't want any trouble for him or for us. There were signs of him becoming violent, we couldn't risk a confrontation. Because of this I've ordered the state psychiatric hospital to take him for a 7 day hold to see if we can get his treatments under control and regulated before we entertain the idea of a conditional release. There's been more than one occasion of patients with this disorder falling through the cracks and becoming violent, _even killing_, and I, for one, refuse to let this be the case with Sam, I'm sorry."

"You can't do that!" Dean yelled, no longer caring if the entire hospital heard him.

"You can't just hall somebody off to the friggin nuthouse without a reason! Sam was anxious, really?" Dean taunted, glaring daggers into the doctors beady little eyes.

Sarcasm dripping off every word, Dean continued his rant.

"I can't imagine why. His brother's invisible and some dickhead with a medical degree is telling him he's crazy! I can't see a problem there, can you?" Dean through his hands in the air, accentuating his faux bewilderment.

Dean stepped as close to the arrogant man as possible stretching his height and giving his presence as much stature as possible. Using his full force of intimidation he glared at the insipient slug in front of him.

"You will release my brother right now or I'll put my foot so far up your ass, you'll have to have it surgically removed by one of your prissy little doctor friends."

Bobby rolled forward and grabbed Dean's fisted hand, pulling him off the good doctor and forcing him to look him in the eyes.

"Dean boy, calm the hell down, now!" He growled. "You understand me. If you don't, you're never going to be able to see your brother. Not here and certainly not at the mental hospital. Is that what you want? To be permanently separated from him when he needs you the most! Sam needs your _talents_ to get him out of there. You know what I mean, Dean. All the things your Daddy taught you growing up. _Understand_." Bobby drawled, trying to get his young friend to see past his rage and realize they be stuck for now, but could easily rectify it later. Away from prying eye's, legal ears, and potbellied security details inching closer to the confrontation unfolding in their hospital.

Dean threw the doctor an evil glare but focused on Bobby once more. Mentally calming his jumping nerves and shoving his anger deep inside, storing it for a later time. Taking a deep breath Dean looked back over at the doctor.

"Fine, you do what you have to, but understand I'll be doing the same. I want full access to my brother and I want all medical decisions to be run by me first. I'm his closest relative and I know I have power of attorney."

Nodding his head, Dr. Marston gave his agreement, at least for now.

"You will retain power of attorney, Mr. Singer, but if it is determined that your involvement with your brother is detrimental to his health, I personally, will file a writ of dissolvent and have you removed as his primary decision maker. Do you understand this?"

With clenched jaws, blood seeping from the portion of his lip he was staunching, Dean nodded. All he had to do was stay focused on getting his brother out of the institution before they tied him down like the last place had. Sam wasn't crazy and once they all saw that his head injury was the cause of this unusual twist in events, then they'd drop the assholes diagnosis and either let his brother go or allow an opportunity for big brother to bust him out. Either way, Sam was not being left in some state run mental facility, not even a demon deserved that.

Daniel stepped aside from the doorway he'd been blocking and waved his hand in it's direction.

"You will both have this evening with Samuel, so make it a good one, tomorrow he will be transferred to the psychiatric facility and visit's will be restricted."

As the two gungy family members made their way to his patients closed doorway, Dr. Marston thought it prudent to have the last word.

"Don't forget Mr. Singer, I see anything, anything at all that seems detrimental to your brother's wellbeing and you will be removed. Keep that in mind as you say your goodbyes."

Dean shoved his fingernails deep into his palms as he passed the medic. _Keep it together Dean, don't deck him, don't break his neck, you'll be rid of him soon enough_. He kept playing through his mind.

"You are one sorry excuse for a human being, dude, better hope you never need anybody because I doubt they'll be there." Dean commented making sure to keep walking.

Bobby shook his head and decided the small defiant smile he saw on Daniel Marston's lips would go unmentioned to the eldest Winchester. The last thing he needed right now was for Dean to explode and end up in a 8X6 cell. There'd be no way in hell Bobby could break him or Sam out if that happened. He was a good hunter, even confined to the damn wheelchair, but he needed moves that no longer matched his own to pull that one off.

_**A/N: I know, I know this is a slow chapter, but I had to get this part in there. I know it's short and I'm sorry for that. I intended on having this be part of chapter two, but this seemed to need a place of it's own to live and thrive. Don't worry next chapter will have Sam in it from beginning to end. This is not my favorite chapter but I had to quite fiddling with it and get it posted. Thanks to everybody who has put alerts on my story and myself, I can't tell you how much that means to me. I would sure love to hear from my readers and would be happy to add something into the story if you really really want it. Mind you, it would have to fit the story, but still I'd love your suggestions. The more reviews, the better I feel. Thanks so much to everybody reading. I'll be putting another update up by next weekend at the latest. Thanks again, Nicole. **_


	3. Chapter 3

**This is a story for the Sam/Jared birthday exchange over at CWESS. This story is in no way made for profit and is simply for fun.**

A/N: When I got my challenge I was really worried because I wasn't at all sure how I was going to take the wonderful Vonnie's idea and make a story out of it. I hope this is even marginally close to what you had in mind!

Prompt info:

Vonnie: What I would like.

1. My 2nd prompt from the Secret Santa exchange:Dean is missing, or at least that's what Sam thinks. In reality he is there and everyone can hear and see him but Sam, who is under a spell by the monster of the week. While Sam is talking to everyone, trying to figure out where he is, everyone around him, including Dean thinks Sam has gone nuts._Bonus points for lots of hurt/limp Sam, awesome Dean, Bobby and/or John. _

**SUMMARY: **After Sam wakes up in a hospital, with injuries he can't remember, he worries both doctors and hunters alike as he seems to be slipping from reality. Can Dean and Bobby get him back on track before he's deemed a ward of the state and institutionalized for good?

Title: Sanity's Serenade

A/N: No beta here, all mistakes are mine. You've been warned. : )

Chapter Three:

Sam silently stared out the dirt stained window, smeared with heavy raindrops, as an unfamiliar countryside steadily passed him by. _How in the hell did he get here? _He thought, as the large white transport van carrying his aching body jostled and dipped about a desecrated roadway. Its thick, mud stained tires hitting every conceivable pothole they could find, leaving Sam's fragile rib's screaming for painkillers and his body crying for comfort. He never really felt the need to shout "why me" at the events of his life, but after this latest bout of crooked luck, he was beginning to rethink his perceptions. Two mental hospitals in two months had to be a record.

The young hunter didn't remember much of what happened after waking and finding his brother essentially invisible to him, but he did remember being whisked away for test's and then being held against his will by a large, hulk like, orderly as Dr. Mangala stood above him with a syringe full of threatening clear liquid. The burly man's filthy fingernails gripping his trembling biceps as he fought to free himself from the assault.

Sam was a big guy, and in most instances, he could hold his own in the direst of circumstances, but with newly acquired injuries and a dwindling strength reserve his downfall was easy and he was pinned to the bed with little effort. The last thing he recalled before the lights went out was Dr. Marston sticking a needle into his thigh, a look of shear delight decorating his gremlin like features while his enforcer stood silently by. It was at this point, Sam's world disappeared into a wavy pool of beefy narcotics and his consciousness ceased to exist.

The next time Sam awoke, he was securely fastened to the bed, his wrist's and ankles detained by thick, padded restraints. _He was really getting tired of waking up strapped to a bed! Hadn't he just gone through this with the last place? Some things did NOT need to be repeated!_

Like deja-vu, Bobby was sitting off to his left, awaiting his introduction, once again, to the land of awareness. The conversation that followed was one of the strangest Sam could ever remember as Bobby was forced to play interpreter between him and his invisible brother. Although their "uncle" didn't relay Dean's every vocalization, it was obvious the situation and the bridge of communication pissed off the eldest Winchester simply by Bobby's irritated retorts and gratuitous eye rolls.

Their current circumstance was new and unfamiliar territory for everyone. None of them had run across anything quite like this, supernatural or otherwise, and they were having one hell of a time figuring out what the next step would be. It wasn't like they could go to the dictionary and look up "invisible brother" in the glossary. Before they could contemplate the fine details of their situation, however, Dr. Marston graced them with his overbearing, obstinate presence.

It was with a happy, self indulgent smirk that the good doctor informed Sam he had Schizophrenia and would be remanded to the state psychiatric hospital for a mandatory 7 day observational hold as his condition was very serious. Apparently in his haste to free himself, Sam had punched the slimy doc in his petulant jaw and was now feeling the repercussions of his unintentional actions.

The irritating physician even had the gall to use quotation marks as he explained it was for Sam's "_own"_ good. At that point, the youngest Winchester didn't need to see or hear Dean's reaction because Bobby practically leapt from his chair desperate to stop the murder he knew was coming. Despite himself, it made Sam chuckle. The look on Dr. Marston's face alone told Sam everything he'd missed visually as the man practically flew into the open bathroom to avoid his brother's unbridled rage. Until that moment Sam had considered it impossible for a human's eyes to pop out of their sockets like the cartoons did, but after watching Dr. Marston parachute to the protective doorway, Sam quickly changed his opinion.

A sudden stop to the swaying motion he'd been experiencing for the last few minutes, knocked Sam from his reverie and forced him to break free of his immersive daydream. His transport had come to a stop at the edge of a massive gated facility. Staring precariously back at him though the van's dingy window, was a semi-dilapidated, ashen brick building adorned with heavy gothic windows encased in worn iron bars and surrounded by bushels towering maples. The sinister structure loomed darkly above an untouched pasture of lumpy mint chocolate colored turf and, despite the comfortable temperature, caused a chill to reverberate off Sam's spine.

Wild, angry vines adorned by sharp, violent thorns crept up the impressive altitude and wrapped brutally about the aging structure, their branches resembling pythons as they delighted in the squeeze of their kill. If Sam really were crazy he'd bet money this wouldn't be the place to recover from it. It instantly reminded him of any quintessential cookie cutter horror movie backdrop he'd ever seen.

Slightly amused, Sam surmised all he needed to complete the scene was somebody in a red shirt, a wisecracking jock, and a dumb, big boobed blond smacking wet and glossy lips over perfectly bleached teeth as she plotted the downfall of her rival prom queen nominee.

"Welcome to Hollywood hell." Sam murmured under his breath as a moist, muggy burst of air filled the van's interior.

With a creak from the sliding door, a short balding man, dressed in a cheap grey suit met Sam's gaze and gave one of the most nervous smiles he'd ever seen. Behind the tiny individual, stood two rather large orderlies dressed head to toe in vanilla.

_Scared much? _Sam thought as he prepared for the inevitable.

"Mr. Singer, I'm Dr. Mitch Summer's the hospital's director. But you can call me Dr. Mitch." Pride billowed off the man. "Everybody calls me Dr. Mitch."

He pointed his thumb to the men behind him.

"These two gentleman, Dave and Mike, behind me, are here just incase you decide you don't want to come quietly. Are we going to need them or are you going to behave for me?"

Sam stifled the sigh that so desperately wanted to leave his lungs and folded his hands in his lap, trying to be as no confrontational as possible.

"I'll behave."

Mitch's shoulders seemed to relax a bit and he drew his hand out, indicating Sam should leave the van and follow him up the broken path.

As the dysfunctional parade moved towards the heavy metal doors that denoted the entrance, Mitch considered it a necessity to let Sam know what was to come.

"Here at West More we expect our patients to be on their best behaviors, but understand that this is an adjustment for anybody, so we try to make the experience as pleasant as possible. As long as you follow the rules and take your medication I don't see your stay here being to difficult."

With that the man glanced up at Sam and cringed, the fact that his newest recruit was twice the size of the orderlies shadowing him did not sit to well with his since of security.

Once through the heavy double bolted doors Mitch directed Sam to a space that resembled a back woods exam room in one of the many low income clinics he'd been privy to during his incomplete, yet involved medical history.

"Now Sam." The squanty man paused. "Do you mind me calling you Sam?"

Sam shrugged his muscular shoulders as he took residence on the small cot he'd been directed to.

"Sam's fine."

"Ok, Sam. You're going to have to endure a quick assessment by our nurse Heidi which includes taking your vitals, weight, and various other things."

At that, Sam visibly cringed. The memories of his last stay in an insane asylum coming to the forefront. Particularly the thorough exam, nurse betty the psychopathic Wraith, had given both him and Dean making an appearance in the pit of his stomach. He really didn't need a repeat performance of that little experience, no matter the intent.

Dr. Mitch seemed to pick up on Sam's concern and gave his best reassuring smile.

"Don't worry Sam it won't be that bad, we just have to make sure that you're healthy. Wouldn't want you to get another patient sick. Now I'm going to get back to work but I will be leaving my friends Mike and Dave here for nurse Heidi's protection and to ensure that you're treated respectfully. I'm just a page away if you need me and I'll be by to see you once your settled into your room."

Sam held back the retort of _Yeah I need something, for your tiny ass to get me the fuck out of here, _but kept his mouth shut and offered an innocent nod instead. Dave and Mike looked more than anxious to display their special abilities and the last thing Sam needed right now was to piss one or both of them off.

Dr. Mitch dropped his small palm on Sam's shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

"I'll see you soon, son. We've got a nice room all ready for you just down the hall. You won't even need to share with a roommate, so you should be very comfy."

The man then turned to nurse Heidi and gave her a subtle nod.

"Heidi, Sam here will need to be done in time for the afternoon med rounds. Make sure that you don't take long getting him assessed because we still have to get him to his room before then."

Without another word, the seemingly authentic man stepped outside the room and pulled the door closed behind him.

Much to Sam's surprised relief his exam only lasted about 15 minutes and did not include any need for rubber gloves, _with which Sam was eternally grateful_. It simply consisted of the young, dainty nurse noting his height, weight, and heart rate. Then the required suggestion for him to change out of his street clothes and into a pair of light blue scrubs. Complete with blue footed socks and a pair of tan monotone tennis shoes.

Once dressed, Sam was asked to stick out his left wrist and a shiny new hospital band with his current name of Sam singer and his actual date of birth, neatly typed under the laminated portion, was affixed to his left arm.

Apparently Sam was a level one patient which meant he had no privileges and was required to ask for permission in doing even the simplest of tasks. Heidi had explained, more then once while looking him over, that he would have to earn his privileges and in order to do so he needed to behave. This included taking his meds, not causing trouble for the staff or other patients, and obeying the rules set fourth by Dr. Mitch.

It took everything in Sam's power not to push his aching body to the brink, over powering the 4 foot nothing nurse in violet scrubs, and bolting for the nearest exit, but observing what he had on his entrance, Sam was pretty confident he wouldn't make it further than the front gates. Considering the injuries he was currently sporting, even that might be to far. Add in the fact that he had Humpty and Dumpty watching his every move, each one's trigger fingers twitching over the tazers clipped to their belts, and his need to play nice so he could stay in contact with Bobby who in turn would keep him in contact with Dean, made him hold his cool and play along, _for now_.

The last thing Sam needed was to wake up strapped to yet _another_ damn bed, his head floating with God knew what kind of narcotics. He was already on the edge of mental obliteration and didn't need further help in that department even though on some occasions the thought of letting everybody else do the fighting while he held back, comfortably lingering in a medicated coma did appeal to him.

Dean paced the nauseatingly white linoleum floor like a caged tiger casing its prey. He couldn't believe their freaken luck! Not only did they have the whole apocalypse fiasco to deal with, the need to be invisible to both angels and demon's, and the impending D-day that was steadily approaching, but now he had the added bonus of figuring out why his little brother couldn't see or hear him and how he was going to break the kid out of another damn mental hospital.

If Dean didn't know any better he'd say the angels had already found them and were currently exacting some kind of sick revenge. Really, he wasn't sure just how much more he could take before somebody found him on top the Empire State building sporting an AK-47. Going postal was starting to appeal to him more and more as the days went on. Maybe Sam just beat him to the punch and cut out the one thing that reminded him of his whole miserable life, his big brother. Not that Dean would ever admit it, but Dr. know it all might actually be right. Even if he didn't want it to be, the thought lingered in the back of his mind like the stench of skunk on a mid-afternoon breeze.

"Ya gonna do that the whole damn time, ya idgit? I get your antsy, but, damn boy, you're maken me seasick!"

Dean pulled himself from his mental rant and stared at Bobby.

"Seriously, Bobby?" He questioned his hands flying in the air.

"Sam, of all people, jailed in another crazy shack is a big problem. You should have seen him the last time, dude. It's not like Sam's the sanest person to begin with, but add in the whole demon blood, daddy issues, and anger management thing he's got going on, and the kid's one crack away from really belonging in a place like this."

Dean's arms washed over the bare walls of their current inhabitance as he turned on tense toes.

"We've got a huge problem. At least last time I was with him, you know," Dean shrugged, "going nut's right along side him, but this time we're not even allowed to speak to Sam without going through more security than the pentagon. I swear to you, my kid brother is the biggest trouble magnet I've ever met." Dean laughed. "And I've met a lot!"

"You're not really thinking Sam's cracked are ya Dean?" Bobby questioned, his eyebrows reaching a hole new elevation Dean had never been privileged to before.

Dean's face crinkled in thought as he seemed to consider the question.

"No! Well?"

Dean let loose a giant sigh.

"God Bobby, I don't know, ok! I mean look what he's been through, what we've both been through. Who's to say this isn't real? I mean, really, how much can a person take before they…"

Dean stopped himself and drew his finger around his ear to further his point.

"You know, take that final leap off the sanity boat and swim in the crazy pool? I can't say I'd blame him. It'd totally piss me off, but I couldn't blame him."

"Sometimes, Dean, I wonder how you breath boy!" Bobby barked shaking his head.

"Your brother may be a lot of things, but crazy aint one of em. I'd bet money that whatever you two got mixed up in stinks of the supernatural. We just have to figure out what the hell you stepped in while going after Casper the backwoods ghost. And considering my current issue…" Bobby stated pointing to his useless legs. "You're gonna have to get your head out of your ass and do the damn leg work."

"Geez Bobby, cranky much?" Dean asked running a callused hand over his sandy hair.

"You better quit while you're ahead, kid, or chair or no chair I'll tan you ass."

Prepared to give a cocky and very Dean-Like retort, the two hunters were stopped from continuing by a creek from the heavy metal door separating them from the rest of the establishment's residence and staff.

"I'm not interrupting anything am I?" Dr. Mitch asked walking inside.

Both Bobby and Dean had been introduced to the small man when they'd first arrived half an hour ago. He'd seemed pleasant enough, but anybody willing to hold a Winchester against their will was suspect in their books, regardless of mannerism or appearance.

"So." Dean began, ignoring Bobby's stifling glare.

"You gonna finally take me to my brother or do I have to know the special handshake and super secret password to get past the big bad door? We've been in this God awful room forever."

Mitch smiled and seemed completely unfazed by the young man's abrasive manner.

"I apologize for the long wait, gentlemen, I had an emergency in another portion of the hospital and had to take care of that before I could return to you. I believe that Sam is resting in his room so this would be as good a time as any for your visit. If you would follow me I'll take you to the recreation area and have an orderly escort your brother there."

"Why can't we just meet in Sam's room? What's there to hide?" Dean questioned following slightly behind the tiny troll like man in the cheap suit, a wafe of off brand cologne assaulting his nostrils.

"There is nothing to hide, Mr. Singer, I assure you, however, as was already explained to your brother, Sam is a level one patient and has to earn privileges by good behavior. He's not yet allowed to have visitors alone in his room at this time. The rec room is monitored by both medical and security personnel so he can be watched, but I promise you he's being very well looked after. Although we are a state funded facility, private lenders and donations have granted us the highest quality of care possible. As a matter of fact," Mitch's face beamed with pride, "West More is the most respected mental institution in the region."

"There's more than one?" Bobby mumbled under his breath, far enough behind the other two, to remain unheard.

"That's great doc, but you telling me and me seeing it with my own two eyes are two very different things. I'm not going to allow my baby brother to be treated like a leper just because some guy I've never met says he's fine. I'm a guy that values actually seeing something over hearing about. I'm a realist."

"That's understandable, Mr. Singer…"

"And that's another thing, doc, the names Dean, ok? Not Mr. Singer, _**Dean**_. You want to call somebody Mr. Singer you can call the old goat behind me Mr., I'm not interested."

Clearing his throat Mitch nodded.

"As you wish, Dean. It's just that here at this facility, we treat the guests of our patients the same way we ask them to treat those they interact with. Value and respect is a much treasured commodity at West More."

As Dr. Mitch swiped his keycard, unlocking a heavy set of steal doors, he pushed them open and motioned for his companions to follow him inside.

"You gotta ignore Dean here, Mr. Summer's, he gets pretty cranky if he hasn't eaten in a few hours. The kid's like a bottomless pit on a good day and he hasn't eaten since last night."

Bobby's remark gained him a nice glare from his supposed nephew and an accompanied nod from the size challenged psychiatrist.

Mitch gave a relaxing smile and guided them to a table set next to a array of large bay windows laced with metal webbing. There panels looking out over the browning lawn of the east garden.

As Dean took up residence in a plastic chair, whose back rested against the wall, Bobby slipped into the empty slot created by Mitch after he removed the chair occupying the space.

"If you're really that concerned about your brother's environment, Mr. …Uh I mean, Dean. I can arrange for you and your uncle to see Sam's dormitory while he's in his therapy session. That way you'll see exactly where Sam will be staying and it won't interfere with our rules. We, here at West More, believe that rules are the building blocks to mental fortification."

Dean and Bobby both rolled their eyes at the mention, yet again, of the hospital's name. If they didn't know better they would have bet money the man got a commission each time he vocalized his beloved mental institution's name.

It was really too bad Dean didn't have a fifth of vodka in his flask or he and Bobby could have done their own version of the drinking game. With each mention of West More, downing a shot. Of course if that were the case they wouldn't of even made it past the entrance way.

"Yeah ok whatever, but I'm not gonna have Igor or Conan the barbarian over there sitting in and listening to our every word when my brother does finally get here, right? I mean we'll be able to have a private conversation in this very public room, correct?"

"Correct, Dean. You'll have your privacy, I promise."

Dean folded his arm's in implied defiance and gave the man his best no bullshit glare.

"Great, then I think it's time for you or one of your cronies to go fetch my little brother. I haven't seen him since yesterday and I'm having separation anxiety."

Bobby couldn't help but snort at the look Dr. Mitch gave in return. He couldn't imagine what the man thought of Sam's family, but had a clue, by the way he stared at them. With most people, hunters were generally assumed to be less than what they were, guided initially by their appearance and lack of social skills. Usually this misconception gave them a hidden advantage, if people think you're stupid they tend to ignore you and let their guards down, but in this case, he knew he had to make the doctor understand they weren't uneducated trailer trash or country bumpkins. Both Bobby and Dean needed the scholarly little man to appreciate they deserved his respect. That way they could walk Sam right out the front doors and avoid an all out jail break.

Mitch sighed. He'd been warned about this Dean character from the get go. It had even gone as far as the suggestion that Sam's brother may be the reason for the younger man's problems to begin with. After meeting the older brother, he could see where they were coming from and wondered, himself, if he should grant the guy access to his patient. But in the end, Mitch decided he'd allow it for now and watch from a distance how the families presence effected Sam's psyche.

"Alright then." Mitch said. "I'm going to have Mike, one of our orderlies, retrieve Sam. He's just had his first round of medication so he may be a little tired depending on how he takes to it, but I'm sure he'll be eager to meet with you regardless. Just please don't tire him out more than necessary. Being admitted against ones will in a place like this can surely take it's toll. I'd hope that you would keep that in mind while speaking to him. Please try and keep him calm and reassure him that this is the best place for him while he undergoes adjustments to his illness."

Dean unfolded his arms and placed them on the table. Clinching his palms together, he looked directly into his newest adversaries eyes.

"I have every intention of doing everything in my power to help my brother, Mr. Summers. I just hope, for all of our sakes, that you do the same."

Out of nowhere Dean felt a jab to his bicep as Bobby nailed him in the arm.

"What the hell, old man?" Dean asked surprisingly annoyed.

"Don't start Dean, you need to be on your best behavior here, don't be an idiot!"

Dr. Mitch smiled. He was starting to like this Bobby character.

"I agree, Mr. Singer. We encourage our patients to behave and if they see their families misbehaving we would have to separate them from that influence."

**A/N: So first off let me say I'm sooooo sorry this was not posted this weekend. I actually got to have a few days off with my husband and we went to the State fair and Oregon Coast so I didn't have time to post. I know I promised the next chapter would be Sam from beginning to end, but I forgot that I actually separated it into two chapters and this is the result of that. I hope that you still enjoyed this chapter and that you are all still with me! I LOVE reviews and can't wait to see them pop up on my emails inbox. THANK YOU to all those readers who have not only taken time out of your day to read my little story, but have added my story and myself to your alerts and favorites. It just makes me float on air when I see them. I also plan to update Lost In the Darkness once I've posted all of this story. Thanks again so much for all of your support, and please have a wonderful week, Nicole. : ) …**


	4. Chapter 4

**This is a story for the Sam/Jared birthday exchange over at CWESS. This story is in no way made for profit and is simply for fun.**

A/N: When I got my challenge I was really worried because I wasn't at all sure how I was going to take the wonderful Vonnie's idea and make a story out of it. I hope this is even marginally close to what you had in mind!

Prompt info:

Vonnie: What I would like.

1. My 2nd prompt from the Secret Santa exchange:Dean is missing, or at least that's what Sam thinks. In reality he is there and everyone can hear and see him but Sam, who is under a spell by the monster of the week. While Sam is talking to everyone, trying to figure out where he is, everyone around him, including Dean thinks Sam has gone nuts._Bonus points for lots of hurt/limp Sam, awesome Dean, Bobby and/or John. _

**SUMMARY: **After Sam wakes up in a hospital, with injuries he can't remember, he worries both doctors and hunters alike as he seems to be slipping from reality. Can Dean and Bobby get him back on track before he's deemed a ward of the state and institutionalized for good?

Title: Sanity's Serenade

A/N: No beta here, all mistakes are mine. You've been warned. : )

Chapter 4

Sam felt like his brain was floating in a sea of rancid Jell-O. He hadn't wanted to take the medication the young nurse had forced on him, but his buddies, Dave and Mike, were still stuck to him like glue and he needed to stay under the radar until he could talk to Dean and Bobby and devise a plan of escape.

He'd been told that his family was in the building and he would be allowed to see them soon, but with the medication they'd forced down his throat he was starting to loose composure. Add in the fact that he was sore as hell from his little trip over a cliff and he was really not looking forward to staying in this claustrophobic place any longer than necessary.

A dull, muted knock pulled Sam from his reverie and brought his attention to the opening door. Illuminated by the harsh glow of florescent lighting haunting the bland hallways, was an average sized man with dark russet hair and vibrant teal eyes. Dressed head to toe in ivory, the orderly seemed pale even in the brightness of the lights. Like all the other nut cases working in the facility he sported an employee badge with various credentials. Plastered across the banner of the glinting ID tag was a bold printed acknowledgement of level 6 clearance, which was of course nothing new to Sam as all the employees at this level had the same qualifications.

"Your family is waiting on you in the rec room. I'm here to take you to them. Mike was supposed to, but he had to take care of another patient."

Sam fought the pull of exhaustion that lingered in his mind and straightened his posture. _When had he started to list to the side? _

"And you're here to escort me?"

The man signed and leaned against the door frame.

"Yes. Do you need a wheelchair or can you walk?"

_What type of question was that? _Sam thought. _His legs weren't broken, of course he could walk._

With the pull of tender, abused ligament's, cracked, brittle rib's, and a heaviness that wasn't with him earlier Sam attempted to stand. Apparently his head wasn't the only thing full of Jell-O as he felt his long legs buckle underneath him. _What the hell?_ He'd been hurt several times, he'd been drugged more times than he cared to remember, but now was the time he fell on his face? Nice way to convince his keepers he was stable and capable of looking after himself. _Good damn job, Winchester!_ Sam mentally chastised himself as he attempted to find steady ground.

The orderly ran over to Sam and threw an arm around his waist.

"I guess it's a chair for you then, huh?" He questioned setting Sam back down on the bed. "You stay here and I'll go get one, got it?"

"No." Sam said looking the man in the eyes. "I, ah, just got dizzy. I'm good now, I swear." To add to his seriousness Sam crossed his heart.

The man shook his head but stood and offered his arm to his charge, as he struggled to stand once again.

"You're on some pretty heavy pain killers and new treatments, man, you may need to take it easy for a few days."

Sam's half mast eyelids glanced at the guy as they haphazardly made their way down the long white hallway.

"Ya think?" He questioned his eyebrow arched, as another wave of unease washed over his unsteady body.

Finally after what seemed like an eternity, the aforementioned rec room came into view. Off to the side, stuffed next to the wall and some large bay windows encased in metal bars, sat his saviors. _Thank God! _Sam thought trying to keep his feet moving forward and in a straight line.

Although Sam couldn't see him, Dean was stiffly wedged in the corner. A perfect picture of nervousness, his right leg bounced erratically under the plastic table, while his body leaned the flimsy chair back against the walls pale barrier. Bobby, whom Sam could visualize, was also stiff and alert, sitting awkwardly in his chair, with eyes staring out at the dreary day beyond the confines of Sam present prison.

A second later Dean was on his feet, impatiently racing towards his little brother.

"Hey Sammy, bout fricken time you got here, I was starting to grow roots." Dean commented facing his still moving brother.

Oblivious to his siblings presence, Sam seemed unfazed and continued to stare straight ahead. Even more eerie, was the fact that Dean was directly in front of him. The youngest man's focus rested souly on the older hunter waiting at the table.

"Hey B, bobby." Sam slurred cautiously as he reached for a chair.

For some reason his mind was still swimming in the aforementioned Jell-O and he couldn't coordinate anything beyond the simple statement he'd uttered. _What the hell was wrong with him?_

"Dean here?" He asked.

"Yeah kid." Bobby flinched, his head directing Sam's attention to the empty chair next to him.

"He's right here." He stated to Sam patting air, but to Dean, his shoulder.

Sam dropped his eye's as his current shame assaulted him.

"Hi ya, Dean. Guess nothing's changed." He stated his faced scrunched into a tight V.

Bobby gave a snort and focused back on Sam. Here they went again with him being reduced to a very unhappy translator. He was just glad that Dean had voluntarily decided to sit back down after his brother's entrance. He really didn't need Dean pacing, it was distracting and making him even more nervous.

"Your damn idgit brother over here wants to know if you're feeling ok. Ya kinda look like you had a few to many beers last night."

Pulling his half massed eyelids open, Sam placed his hands on the cool table top to steady the vertigo that was starting to take effect. _When had he closed his eyes?_

"I'm fine."

Relinquishing a sigh Bobby rolled his eyes, again focusing on the empty chair.

"Damn it Dean, I'm not gonna say that to him now calm the hell down or I swear I'll have you committed too."

There was a long pause from Sam's point of view and then again, Bobby directed his attention to the subject of his brother's discontent.

"Your brother's a giant pain in the ass, you know that right?"

"Yeah Bobby, I know." Sam smiled.

"So how the hell are you guy's gonna break me outta here? They force fed me some kind of pill's a few minutes ago and the worlds starting to tilt at weird, kaleidoscope kinda angles. Having a little trouble focusing if you know what I mean."

"Well ah, actually Sam, we were kinda thinking we might just try to ride this one out. You're only supposed to be in here a week and then they're gonna let you go. We know your not crazy so you shouldn't have a problem playing nice while your brother and I figure this thing out."

"What!" Sam yelled, his world now completely incased in the spin cycle.

Two Bobby's, no matter how comforting, was never a good thing.

Behind them an orderly advanced on Sam after his outburst. Ready to confine the clearly escalating anxiety encompassing the newly admitted resident.

"Everything ok over here gentleman?" He questioned, taking protective stand beside Sam.

Dean pursed his lips as he spoke.

"We're fine, he's just upset, can't imagine why." Dean shook his head, his steely glare hitting it's target straight on.

"It's not like he's stuck in crazy town or anything. Oh wait, yes he is."

The orderly faced Sam and placed his hands in his pocket's effectively ignoring the rantings of the great Dean Winchester.

"You need to calm down Sam. You start to get out of control and you'll be remanded to your room. Is that understood?"

"Yes." Sam sneered, his jaw tight, his hands clenched in his lap.

This was freaken ridiculous. He couldn't even raise his voice, how did Bobby and Dean expect him to last a week? He may not be under a wraith's spell, but if he was going to be treated like a two year old the entire 7 day's he may just end up in jail for murder. Nut's or not!

"Fine Sam. I'll allow you to continue your discussion but one more outburst and you will be removed." The man patted his charges shoulder condescendingly.

"Remember where you are. Outbursts, no matter how much you feel they are justified, just wont be tolerated."

Sam swallowed his anger and gave the best non-confrontational smile he could.

"Yes sir."

Once the interference had left the area, Sam brought his attention back to the matter at hand.

"You two can't seriously think I'm gonna stay here? I mean really?" His eyes narrowed, zeroing in on Bobby's stern glare.

"It's like I'm four years old and have my hand in the fucking cookie jar. Either that or like I'm Manson for God's sake. I have two shadows flanking me constantly. I can't even take a piss without asking. There's no way I'll survive this place for 7 day's."

Lowering his voice Sam continued. "I'll kill somebody if I have to stay here, trust me, I am not joking."

"Yeah." Dean smirked. "Bobby, you only got to see a very small portion of the Sam and dad show. Sam doesn't take orders very well and if the great John Winchester couldn't get him to conform, I highly doubt some jack ass with a tazer and a needle full of Haldol will."

"Well Dean, he's gonna have to." Bobby snapped. "It's not like we have much of a choice here. If you haven't noticed I'm not really in the jail break business these days and there's nobody else to help you with the task."

"Gonna have to what?" Sam questioned, his eye's searching the void that was his brother.

"You're gonna hav'ta stay here Sam. If you just stay under the radar for the next 7 days you'll be sprung and we won't have break you out. It's the best option we got, and besides, it will give you a chance to speak to some of the other patients. Maybe you're not the only one here who's having this problem. This place could be the link we need to figure the whole damn mess out. Only difference this time, you don't have to get yourself committed, you're already here."

"I guess." Sam replied, deflated. _Really what could he do? He couldn't bust out by himself so his choices were pretty limited._

"Tell him to think of it as a vacation Bobby." Dean Smirked. "All the emo, psycho therapy crap he can handle, a couple nice long naps, a few games of checkers with Nancy the klepto, and some good drugs. What's the big deal?" Dean waggled his eyebrows. "He might even find another sexaholic to pass the time. You never know. Might be fun."

Bobby rolled his eyes for the umpteenth time and glared at Dean once again before turning his attention back to Sam.

"Your brother says to think of this as a vacation. Read something and just kick back."

Sam's eye's narrowed and he crossed his arms. "Some how, Bobby, I don't think your translating what my brother's saying, verbatim."

Bobby laughed. "No, ya got that right, but not even I say some of the things that come out of that brother of yours mouth. The kid's a smart ass under the best of circumstances."

"So what do you think it is?" Sam asked, trying to get back on task.

"I don't know and…" Bobby paused sticking his hand in the air staunching whatever Dean was trying to utter."

"We need to figure that part out. I got some contacts near here I'm gonna hook up with, they owe me a favor and Dean will be hitting the town for information. With any luck we'll have this thing settled by the time you're a free man.

"Good Luck" Both Winchester's stated in unison.

"Yeah well, you both better hope it's that easy cause, like I said, we aint in the best of positions right now and breaking Sam here out of a mental hospital would just be one more wrench in the fire. If you haven't noticed we're running a little low on allies."

Bobby watched as his boys faces fell at the indication of those they'd lost.

"Listen you idgit's, I don't mean to bring ya down or anything, but the truth is the truth, and we gotta work fast to find out what it is we're actually dealing with."

He turned his attention to Sam. "Now Sam, for you, that means playing the role you've been given and doing what you're told no matter how ridiculous it sounds."

Bobby then faced the other Winchester. "And Dean, it means keeping that hot headed temper you're so egger to offer up in check and doing some research since you brother's otherwise engaged."

Righting himself once again, Bobby rubbed his numb thighs. "You two got it, or do I need to draw a diagram, cause I gotta tell ya I'm getting to damn old for this shit."

Both Winchesters nodded in agreement, ironically at the same time and tempo.

"I'll stay low Bobby, but…" Sam swayed in his chair as he pressed his hand through his disheveled hair. "These drugs they got me on are really messing with my ability to focus. I'm gonna try to tongue them and toss them, but like I said I have two body guards attached to my freaken hip and I don't know if I'll get the chance. I'm not sure how much help I'll be, considering."

"Ya got that right." Dean blurted pushing his chair back on two legs once again.

"Sammy on drugs is entertaining as hell, but not exactly "_useful"_." Dean stated, the last word framed in quotation marks by his wandering fingers.

"Shut up Dean!" Sam snapped looking in the area of his brother.

Both Bobby and Dean, clearly bewildered, sent hopeful glances the youngest hunter's direction. Anticipation and yearning clearly emanating from unmistakable expressions as the question danced the tango with their firing synapses.

Sam rolled his eyes and quenched a sudden wave of nausea. _Mental note Sam, _he chastised himself, _do NOT roll your eyes while on drugs_. Giving the best smile he could muster, Sam fought the feeling of loosening control that now enveloped him. Whatever this sideshow had forced on him was really starting to mess with his mind and crush his ability to focus.

"Nooooooo." He drawled semi-drunkenly. "I didn't hear my brother, I just know how Dean's twisted mind works." Sam's index finger chased his ear with sloppy precision as he made it clear he wasn't the only crazy Winchester.

"There's no way he'd leave an opportunity like that alone. Any chance to throw a jab my way, Dean takes it." Sam let out a small snort, his own joke suddenly amusing him.

For a moment, the men allowed themselves a chuckle, although their thoughts were still laced with foreboding as to what was coming, it gave them a slight reprieve from the problems at hand. It was, of course, at the brothers expense but still something was better than nothing.

The hunter's continued to iron out the details of their tattered plan for another five minutes before Sam's world took an unexpected turn and he found himself drifting off in mid sentence, his body no longer agreeing with his desire to comprehend or stay alert. This round, at least, was being won by the pharmaceuticals coursing unabated through his aching system.

If he could just devise a way to stay focused long enough to outsmart humpty and dumpty, Sam could tongue the pills he knew would be a constant on his daily menu and re-enter the game. Not now of course, but at some point.

Apparently the "New Medication" the hospitalized Winchester was forced to ingest upon entry, was doing more than just subduing some imaginary psychotic tendencies, but also wrangling him into a wakeful coma.

As the artificial chemicals started to dig their icy fingers into Sam's consciousness and drag him down to a more manageable level, he couldn't help but succumb to their powerful effects. Even before his mind began to disintegrate, the thought of fighting the drug's control seemed out of reach, but now, with its tendrils comfortably imbedded in his resolve, Sam knew he was truly screwed.

At some point, when, the young man couldn't quit remember, he felt his last sliver of control slip away. The hunter's tentative ability to sustain even a fraction of his obstinate personality now washing away with each pump of his steadily slowing heartbeat, leaving only a medicated shell of the man he was a few short hours before.

There was, however, one thing that managed to penetrate the chaos that now called Sam's mind home and he held to it tightly like a starving man clutching his last crumb of food. If he remained in the rec room much longer the chemicals running ramped through his body would have complete control and what was left of his persona would succumb.

He'd end up drooling on the very same tabletop currently dancing with a set of plastic sporks. _Impressive, _Sam thought_, _his mind tickled with the idea_. Who knew tables could dance, and with sporks no less! Did nobody else see this incredible display of oddity or was he the only one to experience the show?_

The last semi-lucid thought of reason which tickled Sam's mind before the throws of complete obliteration, became the fact that if he couldn't ditch the two shadows looming off in the corner, the next 7 days would be hell on earth. Who knew what a copulation of the chemicals now allowed full control of his synapses would do if left unchecked. That idea, beyond anything else, scared the hell out of him and gave him the tiny amount of restraint he needed to keep a minute portion of himself alive in order to flee his pharmaceutical prison.

Dean detected the change in Sam before anybody else, but it didn't take long for Bobby to clue in as well. Trying, unsuccessfully, to catch his little brother as he listed to the side, he watched in horror as Sam fell, clipping his chin on the edge of the folding table during his decent. Instantly, all be it momentarily, Sam became alert again and grinned at Bobby. The lump, now forming on his face, and the newly situated bruise, being completely ignored.

"Good drugs." Sam stated.

"Can't feel a thing, oh yeah and the table's dancing, dude." Sam rambled, a dimpled smile forming even faster than the discoloration of his jaw.

Bobby gave a cautionary glance to Dean and pushed his chair closer. With a callused hand he lifted the giant boy's jowl and gave a reassuring smile in return.

"I think it's time you go to your room Son. You seem a little, he paused quirking an eyebrow, out of it."

Sam gave a toothy grin and raised a pointed finger to the elder hunter's forehead.

"Don't be so seeeeriouuussss Booby." A chuckle left the young man's floppy lips.

"I mean Bobby." Sam's face tried to stay serious, but instead boarded on ridiculous.

"Bobby." A snicker. "I mean Bobby."

Sam's glassy hazels sluggishly rolled in their tired sockets as his neck became lax.

"Not Boooobeeee." Another laugh before he quieted once again.

"Yeah definitely time for a nap." Bobby stated, rolling his eyes.

"Bobby, he's higher than a 747, what if he blabs, or worse?" Dean urged, his attention never really leaving his brother.

"The last time Sam was stuck in a place like this they practically shipped him off to the fort knocks of mental hospitals and branded him criminally insane. What if he get's violent? You know as well as I do the kid's got a lot of pent up anger rolling around in that gigantic head of his."

Bobby glanced at the intoxicated man giggling, puppy eyes drooping to slits, and faced the older sibling once again.

"Dean the kid's wasted. He see's a dancing table for craps sake."

"What if they label him dangerous and lock him up permanently? You know somewhere I can't get to him? I can't loose my brother, not now, not with…"

Dean left the rest of his statement unsaid. He didn't need to mention Sam's impending date with the devil or the fact that he was Lucifer's favorite prom dress, it wasn't like they could forget about that, it hung on each of their minds like a slowly tightening noose. Fear and worry laced Dean's stoic features as he refused to speak the words lingering on his dry tongue.

"Dean. Stop! Don't borrow trouble boy. You and Sam got out of a place like this before, you can do it again. I doubt there's any place you couldn't break into if you knew your brother was on the other side. What's even better, one of you is on the outside this time. I know you daddy taught you better than that."

Sam let out a girlish giggle and blinked harshly.

"This is fantastic!" He squealed waving his arms in the air.

"You conversing with my hoooorny, big brother, Booby. Tell him hi for me, k. I think I'm gonna take a little nap here on this danzen table."

"Yeah, you damned idgit, I'm talking to your damned brother." Bobby barked, reaching the end of the tether he reserved for Winchester nonsense.

The two of them were gonna kill him sooner rather than later and now, to make things worse, with the damn wheelchair he couldn't even run away.

As Sam listed again, Bobby caught him mid plunge, glad he'd locked his chair, and supported the taller man using the palm of his hand. With his arm firmly planted on the kid's chest and gaining some momentum, the older hunter pushed Sam backwards and maneuvered him into a sitting position once again.

"No more face planting boy. It's time you take that nap."

"So serious Booby, sooooo serious." Sam snarked, wiping a bit of drool from his mouth.

The floating Winchester looked with bewilderment at his hand, his attention briefly diverted, then regained a semblance of control and once again faced his surrogate father.

"My lips are crying." Sam snickered.

"Damn it old man what did I tell you." Dean grumbled now also trying to hold his ton and a half brother upright.

"Sammy on drugs is about as useful as the Chippendales at a lesbians convention. We are soooooo screwed."

"Classy Dean, very classy. Now hold onto your overgrown monster of a brother so I can go get his personal watch dogs to take him back to his room."

Dean shook his head as Bobby unlocked his breaks. There had to be some way for them to get Sam out of this place because if their past experiences were anything to go by things were not going to go in Sam's favor. Dean stared into his brother's clouded eyes and sighed. Sam was looking right through him, yet again. Flying on cloud 99.

Even in the kid's sickest, weakest moments, he'd always acknowledged his older brother, but now? Now, Sam was looking straight through him. It left a pain so deep in Dean's soul he was afraid of what would happen if this condition couldn't be reversed. What worried Dean most, was the possibility that this wasn't some supernatural fo-paw playing racket ball with their emotions. That is was something far worse and far more destructive.

To the younger man, Dean was invisible. Was this really the work of some weird ass monster or was Sam actually loosing his marbles? It wasn't like Dean could blame him if he did, really. They'd only recently decided to team up again, both clearly broken and scared from the events of the last few years. Add in the fact that they were still no closer to getting the devil and his cronies off their backs than they were two months ago and you had a giant ball of "oh shit" ready to sideline them at any moment.

Maybe Sam's mind had finally crumbled. The pressures Dean and the rest of the world were forcing on him the final nail in an already overloaded coffin. Why else would Sam forget him, ignore him, clear him from his life? Wipe not only his brother, but their tentative bond away as well. Dean shook his head and pulled himself from his pitting daydream. Whatever the cause, he had to get Sam out of this place. The last thing either of them needed was to have Lucifer's vessel drugged to the hilt and completely vulnerable for the taking.

"Sam, you hear me little brother?" Dean asked, switching arms, as the one previously holding his giant sibling had gone numb.

"Sam seriously dude, this is ridiculous. You're telling me you can't fucking hear a word I'm saying? How about feeling?" Dean commented poking Sam's arm, his random anger talking hold. Still Sam did nothing but fight to keep his eyelids open.

"Fine Sammy." Dean stated pushing up from his chair. He had to know, one way or another, if Sam really couldn't see him or if he was simply blocking him out mentally. Taking Sam by both shoulders, the older sibling began to shake. Even as the younger man's hair flopped at odd angles, Sam paid his brothers actions no mind, seemingly oblivious to the motion encasing him.

"Hey, what the hell are you doing?" Somebody called from behind them causing Dean's intensity to waver slightly.

Dean hadn't realized it, but he was shaking Sam hard enough to rattle his teeth. Turning he came face to face with Sam's "body guards" and one very pissed off Bobby Singer.

"I, ah, I was just…

"You were nothing boy, now knock that crap off. You know damn well Sam doesn't see, hear, or feel you shaken him. And to do it while he's blitzed out of his gord is dirty pool."

Quiet to this point, Sam re-joined the conversation.

"I think there was a, an, a what the hell dooooo you call it." Sam took a giant gulp of air.

After taking a moment to think, his thoughts steadily drowning in a murky pool of disarray and confusion, Sam continued.

"You know, don't ya Boooby, where the earth shakes?"

To extenuate his point, Sam did a sorry impression of the hula and raised his sagging eyebrows in anticipation.

Bobby wrinkled his brow and bit his lip. It was taking all he had not to bust up laughing at the state the youngest Winchester was in. He'd watched young Sam more than once, for John and Dean, while the kid was sick. Sometimes he even looked forward to it as the comedy routine that followed a couple spoonfuls of Nyquil was pretty fascinating. But this, this was much more entertaining then even that. To watch a man as large, not to mention intelligent as Sam be as shit faced as he was now, well, it reminded Bobby of his college days to say the least.

"Earthquake Sam?" He questioned.

Sam gave a lopsided grin and nodded. "Yepper."

Sam thrust his hand forward, his pointer finger floating in mid air.

"That's the one. I feel really tired Bobby think I could lay down on the floor?"

"No son, that's not an option, but these two guys here are gonna take you back to your room. Sound good?"

"You mean Humpty and Dumpty over here. Yeah, ok."

Sam put his finger to his lips and leaned towards his friend. Never aware his brother was doubling over in an attempt to keep his massive frame vertical.

Loudly whispering Sam kept talking.

"Don't tell Dean, k? He thinks these two are Assholes. I may not hear him, but trust me." Sam finger tapped his temple and winked. "He thinks it."

Dean pulled his brother back into a semi-standing position.

"Gotta hand it to my little brother, even drugged out of his gigantic brain, he still knows me."

The eldest Winchester made a point to stare directly at the two chunks of muscle hovering precariously over his younger brother. A threatening look easily conveyed, almost stating with out words, you hurt my kid brother and I'll break every bone in your body.

The taller of the two guards grasped Sam's left shoulder and waited for the other to mimic his actions on the right. Once they were sure to have a firm grip on the intoxicated man, they nodded to both Dean and Bobby and maneuvered Sam's lagging body towards the door.

As the two left, you could hear one of the overgrown apes comment on Dean's behavior. Obviously unaware of just how loud their voices really were.

"I think the directors right on this one, man. That brother of his is a real tyrant. After we tell him about the shaking, I'd be surprised if he'll ever be allowed access to this one alone."

"Maybe, but you know the director the guy might be a total tool but if he thinks the brother will help the kid, anything's possible."

As the three men vanished behind another set of locked doors, the rest of their conversation was lost and once again, Bobby and Dean were left to their own devices.

"I swear Dean you pull a stunt like that again, and chair or no chair, I'll kick your ass. One of these days that damn temper of yours is gonna get you in some serious trouble."

Dean stepped back from the table and forced his callused hand through his sandy brown hair.

"Damn it Bobby, I know, it's just…" Dean paused, afraid to say what he was thinking.

"What Dean?"

"Well, I mean, Sam's been… Sam's had a lot happen to him, you know? What if he…" Before Dean could finish he found a finger thrust into his chest.

"Jesus Dean, do we really have to have this damn conversation again? Really, I mean, really? Can you seriously look me in the eyes and tell me you think Sam would flip out now? The kid was raised a Winchester for fuck's sake. If your daddy didn't cause him to sign up for crazy town not to mention your little time in hell, I highly doubt a trip over a cliff would. I don't know what is going on here, but I can tell you without a doubt in my mind, Sam is as intact as he ever was."

Dean snorted and faced his friend once again.

"Yeah your right, but still Sam never was all that intact, kid's a geek for God's sakes. Really I think he was switched at birth. He's such a girl maybe he was switched with my biological brother who's shorter and more fun."

Bobby shook his head and unlocked the wheels of his chair.

"Come on ya damned idgit, we need to go find that director and smooth things over before the orderlies spill the beans. We also gotta get him to show us where he's parked your brother, last thing we need is to leave him here in his current state without a little help, you know? Wax symbols on the walls aren't the best option, but right now it's all we got."

**A/N: Ok another chapter down. Hope you liked my weird attempt at humor and I sure hope it made you laugh. Thank you once again for all the kind alerts, saves, and reviews. Please please keep them coming, as most of you know I'm not above begging ; ). Soon you will see what is plaguing the brothers. I sure hope it lives up to ever bodies expectations and YES we are only days away from the start of season six. I can't wait, I hope that this is not their last season because I could easily look foreword to at least four more years. I mean look how long Smallville has been running. All I can say is they BETTER put Sam in a hospital bed this year because he is the only only only character that has not been hurt and in the hospital since the show started. Even the angel has, which I've said before, but the limper/whumper in me hopes this year we will get to see not only the redemption of Sam but some good old fashioned injuries and big brother Dean concern and angst. Let's face it, I'm tired of blame always being laid on him, even though he had evil on his shoulder his whole life and still did everything he could to be good and true never really giving into the vast temptation so close to his grasp. The last few years in particular it seemed to me they were showing how pure Dean was but how damaged Sam was. Not to mention that even the episode titled: Sam interrupted focused more on Dean than Sam, I want to see a very Sam centric storyline and I hope they will pull that off this season. Ok enough of my ramblings. Thanks again for hanging out and reading my story, everybody have a wonderful week, Nicole. **


	5. Chapter 5

**This is a story for the Sam/Jared birthday exchange over at CWESS. This story is in no way made for profit and is simply for fun.**

A/N: When I got my challenge I was really worried because I wasn't at all sure how I was going to take the wonderful Vonnie's idea and make a story out of it. I hope this is even marginally close to what you had in mind!

Prompt info:

Vonnie: What I would like.

1. My 2nd prompt from the Secret Santa exchange:Dean is missing, or at least that's what Sam thinks. In reality he is there and everyone can hear and see him but Sam, who is under a spell by the monster of the week. While Sam is talking to everyone, trying to figure out where he is, everyone around him, including Dean thinks Sam has gone nuts._Bonus points for lots of hurt/limp Sam, awesome Dean, Bobby and/or John. _

**SUMMARY: **After Sam wakes up in a hospital, with injuries he can't remember, he worries both doctors and hunters alike as he seems to be slipping from reality. Can Dean and Bobby get him back on track before he's deemed a ward of the state and institutionalized for good?

Title: Sanity's Serenade

A/N: No beta here, all mistakes are mine. You've been warned. : )

Chapter 5

It had been six days. Six days since Sam had been hauled off to nuts-ville, while Dean and Bobby where left to wrangle up a reason. For Sam, it was a copulation of bad drugs, ridiculous rules, and vast amounts of sleeping. Really what else did one do in the nut house? Learn to tap dance? Run for president?

After his third day of confinement, not much of which he could remember, Sam had woken up to the forceful antics of his two "buddies" pinning him to the ridged little cot and force feeding him another round of anti-psychotic's. Really, he wasn't even sure as to the reason, considering, to the best of his knowledge, he'd been playing nice. Ever the dutiful little head case. Course, he did have a very faint recollection of Dr. Marston stopping by and checking on his progress. That could have had something to do with his impromptu breakfast in bed, depending on what his blitzed out mind decided to conjure up for the good doctor.

During the few lucid moments Sam was able to retain, he was really starting to doubt his ability to tongue the drugs. The moments so minute and splintered, he began to lose hope he would ever find a way to reject them. No matter how he went about it, the anti-psychotics, always made it into his stomach. The second reality would peak out over the vast fog of medication, another round would take its place and throw him back into the mist of oblivion.

It was only by the grace of God, that following his dance with the Dumpty twins, Sam had gotten sick from an encounter of spam surprise and managed to expunge the mind altering visitors that had taken up residence in his stomach.

He had never been more grateful for the small toilet that accompanied his room than he was at that moment. Miraculously enough, without being caught, Sam was able expunge the toxins before they took full effect leaving him groggy but alert. Apparently Mark and Dave needed a break after wrestling him to the bed and weren't in ear shot of his little mid-morning tango with the tiny metal commode.

Since that day, Sam had been playing his part, to the best of his ability, staying under the radar, putting his drama classes to good use, and laying low. Bobby, and apparently Dean, had visited the next day and Sam relayed his deception to them at the first opportunity.

Now, with the 7 longest days of his life steadily coming to an end, all the young hunter had to do was keep playing his role, ducking the director, and trying to be as convincing

as possible that he was, in fact, on drugs. With any luck he'd be out in the next day or so, dutifully promising to do out patient therapy and take the medications prescribed to him like any good, recovering schizophrenic.

Sam sat on the edge of his bed and picked at the nauseatingly pale scrub top that he was currently wearing. The first thing he was going to do when he got out of this place, was to wear something with color, _anything with color_! Not muted pastels or bleached whites stiff and ridged from constant washings, but color, red's, oranges, greens, hell he didn't even care if it was bright pink at this point, just as long as it was something that didn't remind him of a retirement home on methadone.

Sighing, Sam flopped his head back on the lumpy pillow he'd shoved up against the wall an hour ago for entertainment. It was amazing how watching a pillow unfold its self could be considered a time passer, but at the moment it was all he had. For crying out loud, he couldn't even watch the grass grow since he was two stories up.

_What the hell were they missing? Yeah, he wasn't on the outside and had to rely on Bobby and Dean to do the research, but even still, by now they should have found something! _

From what Bobby had told him, both he and his brother, were running on empty. Not one thing seemed out of place or unorthodox in the little town and no matter how hard they tried, they just kept coming up empty.

On the outside, they'd scoured every book, newspaper, and tabloid within fifty miles. Even going so far as to interview the former crazies looking for a connection, but still, they came up empty.

On the inside, Sam had requested anything and everything he could get his hands on to try and help with research, but had to be careful as to what he asked for. The last thing he needed was for the shrinks to take special interest in his extracurricular activities. They were already paying to much attention as it was. Being labeled a schizoid and looking for books on witches, curses, and demons didn't shine a very promising light on recovery.

Sam may be a lot of things, but he sure as hell wasn't psycho, and it was driving him crazy, no pun intended, he thought, sharing a laugh with himself, that he was locked up unable to find the culprit using research skills he'd honed since infancy. He'd talked to every patient that was even slightly coherent and still had nothing to share, nothing to add. His brother could be a general pain in the ass on a good day, but that certainly didn't mean Sam wanted to spend the rest of his life unable to see, hear, or touch the guy. Frustrated beyond comprehension Sam sighed. _**What were they missing?**_

As if on cue, Sam's nurse, a guy by the name of Irving, walked into his 10 by 10 prison. The man had thick, unruly dishwater blonde hair, big floppy clown feet, constantly wore some stupid looking hanker chief tied around his long neck, and always smelled of peppermint, which, Sam assumed, was from his extra job at the local old folks home. There comes a point, when, if you're around it enough, Bengay just won't wash off sinking into your skin like a twisted parasite. Add in the fact that each time the dude was not torturing a patient, he had some form of confection shoved in his mouth, and you had to admit, he seemed off.

It didn't take long for Sam to deduce the man was a jackass either. Never coming without this undesirable look of contentment plastered across his hollowed face, he managed to upset everyone around him. The guy was skinny as a rail and had big, blue bug eyes that seemed to follow you, even when they weren't focused on you. To put it bluntly the dude creeped Sam out.

"Hey there Sammy boy. You having fun yet?" The RN asked, a shit eating grin plastered across his otherwise placid features.

Sam's face twisted in surprise.

As if totally unconcerned as to the perplexity he'd just caused, the man leaned his gaunt frame against the doorway and crossed his bony arms, sharp elbows sticking out at odd, sickening angles awaiting his charges retort.

Taken aback Sam sat up and studied the man conspicuously. _Did he just call him Sammy boy? _

"Excuse me?"

Irving pushed from the doorjamb, straightening his arms, and waved a hand in the air, his pointer finger singling Sam out with a direct attack.

"Well for one, I know you aint taking those meds that pompous, ego centric showboat of a doctor is prescribing you, and for two, you're kinda boring me at the moment." He waved his hands dismissively.

The man rolled his eyes, his disgust evident.

"You guys are the Winchester's for crying out loud! Where's all the excitement, the intrigue…_**the awe**_. I was expecting…" Irving stopped, crossed his arms again, and shrugged.

"Well something thrilling, at the very least…" His eyes arched in sick delight. "Fun!"

Sam sat flabbergasted, speechless, once again the thought of "_what the hell" _graced his mindset?

"How…"

Before Sam could get anything else out, Irving cut him off with the display of a large needle he'd hidden in his scrub pants.

"How do I even know you're a Winchester?" He questioned, taking the words right out of Sam's mouth.

Another shrug.

"Well, everybody knows you Winchester's, you're practically legends. We also know you two genius's let the Devil out of his cage and that your big brother Dean is Michael's jumpsuit. Not to mention you're Lucifer's leotard."

Sam felt his mouth flop open and hang there. Usually he could come up with something smart to say in retort when faced with a mouthy adversary, but for some reason, maybe the lingering remnant of pharmaceuticals, or the threat of whatever was in that very large needle his nurse was holding, he was unable to compose an appropriate response.

Irving waved his hand in the air again wiggling the full syringe around like a wand of power. A new look of delight now decorating his pointy featues and lighting his dull grey eyes.

"Speechless, I see." He taunted. "Well, I would be too if I were you. Maybe even a little scared, to be honest. Who knows how many things like me are out for your hides."

The smile thinned and widened, giving him a dangerous resemblance to the Cheshire cat.

"Of course I'm not, you know, afraid. Not now anyway, thanks to that hot headed brother of yours and your interesting little demon blood fetish the world is starting to lookup."

Irving threw his arms in the air, a smile bordering on shear exhilaration lining his otherwise ugly face.

"I gotta tell ya, Sammy my boy, things have been pretty boring for us the last couple of years or so. Thanks to you and your ignorant brother, me and my kind had to play nice and ignore the largest smorgasbord of fun we'd seen in a decade. Here, the Winchester's were falling apart, and thanks to Gabriele, that over sized gasbag of an angel, none of my kind were aloud to touch either one of you. Talk about cruel, I mean come on."

Irving's eyes narrowed and his look of glee was replaced by one of deadly hunger.

"Do you know what it's like to want something sooooooo bad and not have the ability to get it? To have it dangling right in front of your face, but not be allowed to touch it? Gabriel had a thing for the two of you. He made it abundantly clear he was the only one that could use you for play time. But once he fell off the radar…" Irving raised his hands in question. "Well, then all bet's were off."

"You're a, a…" Sam stuttered trying to get his brain to catch up with the events currently unfolding in front of him.

Grasping a large clump of thin, tattered blanket, Sam felt anger well up inside of him.

"You're a Trickster, aren't you!" Sam demanded, his breath leaving his body as the realization struck him.

Irving took a deep, satisfying breath and once more leaned against the doorway, his big floppy feet comfortably crossed at the ankles.

"Always heard you were the smart one, Sammy. What's the thing we all say?" He stated mostly to himself. His finger resting on his lips as if in deep thought.

"Oh yes…" Irving's finger pointed to the ceiling. "Dean's the muscle and you're the brains."

He took another smug breath and continued.

"Oh…and daddy, daddy was the enforcer."

Shaking his head in mock dismay, Irving glanced at the angry young man now salivating at any opportunity to attack him. His excitement doubled as he watched Sam Winchester's taxed mind allow the puzzle piece to fall into place and the mystery finally unravel.

Feeling all sorts of stupid as he thought about the last few days, Sam was dancing a very fine line between anger and regret. _What the hell was wrong with him? He should have picked up on this from day one. Some great hunter he was. If he'd paid attention, he would have seen this coming a mile away._ What other kind of creature would think up something as ridiculous as this? Add in the presence of candy each time the guy came around and it should have been a no brainer. Of course it was a trickster! A trickster hell bent on taking him and his brother down. Somehow looking for a little psychopathic payback for Gabriele's pulling of the reign's and interference in their twisted sandbox.

No wonder there were no other cases to pull up, no other leads to follow. This whole time it was all about them and them alone! What better way to screw with the Winchester's then to mess with their family? Everybody, well everything, out there knew family was the Winchester's one and only weakness. What better way to get back at Gabriel for bossing them around than to take down the very things he was invested in?

The beast had followed them, for God knew how long, awaiting an opportunity of vulnerability to strike. It couldn't have been hard to see that he and Dean were running on empty, that they were falling apart. When the angel running the show was finally out of commission, there was nothing holding the creatures back from going full on commando and wrecking the two humans they considered the reason for their restraints. Thanks to Dean and Sam's little venture to nowhere, their only focus axing a ghost, and Sam's unexpected tumble into the drink, the newly revealed Trickster had found his opening.

_**Fuck! **_Sam thought apprehensively. _Now what was he going to do? _If he charged the thing, it'd just call for the guards and get him a one way ticket to psycho's ville. If he stayed still and did nothing, he was sure to get a vein full of whatever creepy concoction the creature was currently holding in its bony little fingers. No matter what way you looked at it, Sam was screwed!

"So now what?" Sam asked, hoping for something, _anything,_ to pop into his head and tell him what to do next.

Irving's eyebrows narrowed and he faced Sam full on. Waving his large gage needle in the air once more.

"Now, I stab you with this nice little medley of vegetating drugs, sit back, and enjoy the show while your big brother has a full-on melt down."

The thing smiled, viciously, once again.

"It's not ideal." He smirked. "But like I said, I'll take what I can get. I'm bored with you at the moment and I need to up the ante. Make things more interesting if you know what I mean."

Irving sighed and shook his head.

"Searching for other cases like yours? Scouring every newpaper clipping in this town? Crying in your muscle relaxers that you can't figure this out? !"

Irving waved his free hand in the air stifling a yawn.

"The only thing I do find even remotely entertaining at this point is the fact that both you and your brother had started thinking maybe you were, in fact, going crazy."

Sam shook his head. His disgust evident without any need for words.

"So you're going to drug me? How is that any fun?"

Irving began to laugh uncontrollably. His anorexic belly rolling with excitement.

"Are you kidding me, Winchester? Even your good friend Bobby finds it entertaining to watch you flounder while under the influence, but this…?"

The man held the needle higher, shaking it's contents with jittery movements right in front of Sam's eyes.

"This is even better than that. Seeing the great, Sam Winchester, bringer of Satin, unable to move even a single muscle, rivers of drool running down his chin, having to be hand fed? All the while aware of everything going on around him. Completely unable to alert the big bad Dean Winchester or good old Bobby Singer to his parole? Well that seems fun enough for me, at least for now."

There was a glint of glee in the monster's cold blue eyes.

"I can only imagine how helpless and vulnerable you are going to feel when my little creation takes complete control and you're totally paralyzed with your intellect intact. I'm even going to give you your brother back."

The creature shrugged it's shoulders and waved his hands mockingly.

"Of course you won't be able to communicate, so he won't know you can see and hear him, but still, it's something right? Consider it a gift from me to you."

Irving moved closer to Sam. With a wave of his free hand behind him, the door was closed essentially leaving Sam unprotected. The creature's voice even darker than it had been earlier now the only thing Sam could hear, as it bounced off the walls of the tiny enclosure. Completely unfazed by his captives boiling rage and panic, the deranged Trickster continued his rant.

"Silly Bobby, silly Dean, silly Sammy. Wax symbols can't hurt a Trickster. Now I know you were expecting something more substantial, considering your date with the devil and all, but really, that's no excuse. You grew up in the hunting community, you'd think you'd try other forms of protection as well. Especially since everything Supernatural on this planet is out to roast your heads on a pire, for one reason or another. Stupid to be so narrow minded young Jedi.

"You're sick freak!" Sam spat, trying to maintain his cool. "And it's Sam you piece of shit, not Sammy."

Sam took a breath, calming his urge to rip the being apart. _Stay calm Sam, stay calm. _

"You think this is some kind of pissing match? That now that Gabriel's out of the way, you can do whatever you want?" Sam laughed despite himself.

"You really don't have a clue what you're getting yourself into, do you? There are angels and the fucking devil out for me and my brother. You stand in there way and you might as well kiss your freaky ass goodbye."

The trickster re-pocketed the needled and stuck his long, pointy noise in Sam's face. Hot peppermint laced breath assaulting Sam's innocent nostrils.

"I'm not gonna kill you, human, I'm just gonna play with you a little. The angels could care less about me, save Gabriel, and we all know what happened to him, right? Thanks to you and that brother of yours. And the Devil? Well let's just say Lucifer has bigger fish to fry than me and my kind. It's play time baby and I'm gonna get me a nice big piece of it before the final showdown. Me and mine have been chained up for far to long to let this slide through our fingertips. I'm not gonna be around for the final match, but I am going to enjoy the half time show. Heck," he snickered. "I might even throw your brother and Bobby some hints just to see how long it takes for SOMEBODY to clue in."

Sam felt his mouth run dry. Obviously "Irving" had given this some real thought. _Shit! _He silently cursed. If he couldn't alert his brother or Bobby to what was going on it might be a lifetime before they figured it out and who was to say Bubba over there wouldn't rat him out the minute he got bored with this little charade. _Shit, shit, shit_!

Irving cocked his right shoulder and fished the needle out of his pocket again.

"Course when they finally do figure this little show of mine out, I'll be long gone. Basking in the delight of my own achievement for Trickster kind. Now that Gabriele's not running the show there's a vacancy in the commander and chief position and I'm gonna take it."

_Great,_ Sam thought. Of all the Trickster's he and Dean had to run across, they had to find the one hell bent on power and world domination.

"You're crazy if you think for one minute that I'm going to take this laying down, you sick son of a bitch!" Sam spit, shards of saliva spackling Irvin's attire.

Irving casually flicked the cap, protecting the needle, off with the twist of his thumb and smiled an evil, self satisfying grin. Shaking his head he made his move towards his target.

"You don't have a choice, Sam. I'm the one holding all the cards or…" He chuckled. "The needle!"

Faster than Sam could react, the twig like Trickster was on him, successfully plunging the large, liquid filled syringe deep into his shoulder. Unlike the effects of the shot Dr. Marston had given him days prior, this one introduced it's chemicals effects almost immediately.

The last thing Sam heard before the world went dark was Irving screaming at the top of his lungs that his patient was having a reaction to his medication. Ironically enough, the creature didn't claim self defense or violence, but instead, illness, as his plot for attention. At least Sam wouldn't wake up tied to a bed, of course, he managed to think, he wasn't looking foreword to what he would be waking up to either.

Without the advantage of strength, now stripped from him by unknown elements swimming through his blood stream, Sam was unable to keep himself coherent any longer. As the last tendrils of reality drained from his still healing body, Sam watched the room he'd spent the past 6 days in simply blend into a giant cyclone of displaced colors and shapes. His eyelids finally too hefty to support their own weight, the thin layer of protective skin slipped closed over once vibrant hazel eyes. With a final breath, Sam Winchester had left the building.

**A/N: Ok so it's 11:20 and I have to get up and go to work in the morning so I'm going to make this short and sweet. I was going to use a different creature as the bad guy in this story but was getting nowhere with the ending, my muse and I fighting non stop as to where to go and what to do, but then one day I was staring at my laptop and it just smacked me in the face, Trickster. And since the boys have never actually dealt with a Trickster, only Gabriele who was pretending to be one I thought this would be the perfect way to go. I sure hope the reveal wasn't a disappointment and that everybody enjoyed this chapter. After I'd written it I was super excited about it, but then tonight, probably because I'm uber tired I wasn't as happy with it as I was then. Let me know what you think, reviews make me beyond excited! And don't forget everybody, our boys are back this FRIDAY at 9, heck even a soap opera mag had a snidbit about it in there rag, so at least the words getting out to the day swap. Let's all send giant prayers to the TV God's that they do not make this the finale season. I need my boys, they can't take them from me now I mean after all Smallville is going on season 10, they gotta show our boys the love they deserve. I hope this year brings us brotherly bonding, wise cracking, smart ass, women Chasing Dean, and kind hearted, conflicted Sam with a healthy dish of Bobby beat down when times get tough. Thanks again everybody for all the reviews, the alerts and of course for taking this crazy ride with me. Have a wonderful Supernatural week, Nicole. **


	6. Chapter 6

**This is a story for the Sam/Jared birthday exchange over at CWESS. This story is in no way made for profit and is simply for fun.**

A/N: When I got my challenge I was really worried because I wasn't at all sure how I was going to take the wonderful Vonnie's idea and make a story out of it. I hope this is even marginally close to what you had in mind!

Prompt info:

Vonnie: What I would like.

1. My 2nd prompt from the Secret Santa exchange:Dean is missing, or at least that's what Sam thinks. In reality he is there and everyone can hear and see him but Sam, who is under a spell by the monster of the week. While Sam is talking to everyone, trying to figure out where he is, everyone around him, including Dean thinks Sam has gone nuts._Bonus points for lots of hurt/limp Sam, awesome Dean, Bobby and/or John. _

**SUMMARY: **After Sam wakes up in a hospital, with injuries he can't remember, he worries both doctors and hunters alike as he seems to be slipping from reality. Can Dean and Bobby get him back on track before he's deemed a ward of the state and institutionalized for good?

Title: Sanity's Serenade

A/N: No beta here, all mistakes are mine. You've been warned. : )

A/N 2: I am sooooooooo sorry for the wait on this chapter. I especially want to tell Vonnie how incredibly sorry I am for keeping her waiting. I've been having medical issues this whole year and apparently they are still not over. I have some weird nerve stuff going on and my right shoulder went numb along with my thumb and pointer finger. Then to add insult to injury I developed a incredible case of itching which was so bad I couldn't concentrate on sitting still, let along writing. Stupid nerve damage, really did we have to include itching, gosh. LOL

Although the doctors aren't sure what is wrong, my symptoms have dissipated and I'm finally able to concentrate once again. Just say a little prayer the MRI I'm scheduled to have doesn't find anything bad and I'll be a happy girl.

I am not completely happy with this chapter and feel that it should be better than what is it, but figured I should probably get my ass in gear and post. I'm so sorry if this chapter is not as good as you hope but I also hope that it's enjoyable at least. Thank you to all the people that have stuck with me and are still reading. Thank you to everybody that has alerted me and this story and thank you to all of you that have left reviews. Please keep reviewing it truly makes me day. Thank you so much, Nicole.

Chapter 6

Bobby knew it was only a matter of time before what was brewing with the eldest Winchester came to a head and he'd be forced to bare witness to the cataclysmic explosion that followed. The question was; when would it happen and how big would the fallout be?

When the moment finally came, the seasoned hunter was genuinely surprised. The eruption, diminutive and relatively contained, was not nearly as momentous as anticipated. Knowing Dean, Bobby had expected a reaction at least ten times as destructive, this was Dean Winchester after all, the king of self sacrifice and self implicating devastation, so anything less was nothing short of surprise. Bobby loved the man like a son and would step in front of an oncoming train to protect him, but nobody was a match for Dean when it came to blame and self incrimination.

The kid was a ball of emotions on a good day. Somehow, he'd managed to compartmentalize his inner demons in the deepest recesses of him mind, only allowing access to them when they could no longer be ignored. A fact Bobby attributed to the young man's need to protect his little brother. But mess with the younger Winchester, a boy Dean had basically raised since the tender age of four, lock him up in a mental institution with an egomaniacal doctor holding his freedom in his egotistical palm, add in the fact that the kid wasn't even capable of acknowledging his older brother's presence, and voila you had the perfect skeleton key to unlocking the whole damn can of worms. Nobody, not even the late great John Winchester, could calm that disaster.

The day had started out like all those before it. Dean's dingy motel room's small, scuffed table top painted with cigarette burns and chipped decoupage, overflowing with ancient texts and various sheets of useless paper, half empty cups of convenience store mud solidifying in countless nooks and crannies, and both hunters brimming with bridled frustration at their lack of progress. Aggravation bubbled just below the surface, laying in wait for that one tiny tinder to ignite the smoldering embers laid before them. That spark came in the form of an email Dean received from a friend of his fathers.

The man, a literal genius in all things Supernatural, had both hunters laid bare with hope at the perspective of his ability to unlock the missing link which neither could formulate on their own. It was impossible not to be caught up in the infectious confidence Bobby saw on the younger man's face as the message was unveiled. Both thinking they would finally attain something solid and hold onto it like a life preserver in an angry storm, they had put all their remaining hope in what the message conveyed. If this guy didn't have answers they weren't sure there would be any to find. Oh how a compilation of scattered words adorning a digital page could bring, even the most reliant of people, to their knees with such simplistic ease.

Bobby had quietly watched as Dean, exuding so much aspiration it practically seeped from his pores, graced the message, his eyes swiftly eating up every word put before them. It was towards the end of the letter that Mr. Singer felt the uncanny need to back away before he was afflicted with flying debris.

At first, Dean had simply tensed as his eyes drained the words on the page, straightening his posture, biting his lip, and becoming even quieter than before, but it was at the end of the email that his hands seemed to take on a life of their own casting an array of destruction as everything littering the small table was swept angrily to the stained carpet below. It was at this point, Bobby was certain the news wasn't good and they'd undoubtedly reached another dead end. Only the latest in a long, frustrating line.

Bursting from his rickety, aluminum chair as it was thrust sideways to rest on the floor, Dean paced the darkened room, once again resembling a famished animal stalking its targeted prey. His displeasure running ramped and unchecked, Dean's fists tightly clenched into ridged balls of fury at his sides, his mouth firmly sealed with thinned lips, the young hunter remained dangerously quiet leaving an eerie wave of weird calm hanging in the humid air.

Bobby felt it prudent to give the man space before asking the question resting on edge of his chapped lips; Exactly what had the message contained?

Hoping that, with time, Dean would settle and he wouldn't be the unfortunate victim of a renegade fist to the face. The mentor bided his time. The last thing he needed was to be paralyzed and bruised. Taking a deep, intoxicating breath, still wondering what track the escalation of Dean's anger would take, and deciding now was as good a time as any to approach the bitter subject, the surrogate father spoke. Unlocking the breaks on his chair he rolled closer to his friend and began the interrogation as to what had transpired.

"Wann'a tell me what the thing said, or are ya planning on wearing a hole in the floor?"

Dean jerked his head in the direction of Bobby's voice and shook it dejectedly.

"Marley's got nothing, man. Nothing! He doesn't have a fucking clue! I mean what are we supposed to do now?" Dean's arms were thrust in the air in abject question.

"He was our last option and he's fucking useless! My brother's sitting in some damn mental institution tonguing anti-psychotics and there's not a damned thing I can do about it!"

Dean shook his head and made another lap around the small room.

"Me and Sam may not be on the best of terms but he's still my little brother, Bobby. How can I help him when I don't have a fucking clue what the hell's going on? Sam's the freaken researcher, not me. Even with you here, we are totally screwed!"

Dean's expressive emerald eyes begged Bobby for an answer, screaming for anything to alleviate their pain.

Bobby raised his hands in contention and sighed.

"I don't know, Dean, but Sam gets out of that place tomorrow and we'll have more options then. Hell, we could even take your brother to Missouri and see if she has any ideas as to what's causing this. We may be out of options here, in this little bee spit of a town, but that doesn't mean there's not other places to look once that brother of yours is a free man. Plus with Sam able to aid in the research we're bond to get there a lot quicker. The kid's a damn genius on a bad day but add in the fact that he's extremely motivated and I'd hate to see what happens when we find the culprit."

Dean shook his head and practically collapsed on his bed rage quickly replacing exhaustion in his arsenal of emotions. At this point, not even magic fingers could ease the Winchester's disarray. He was so tired, his body and mind continuously fought this constant battle as to who would win out and abandon him first and Dean was starting to wonder if it was going to be a tie. Both shaking hands and attacking him together. Research took up every minute not reserved for sleep and even that had to be forced on him by Bobby. He'd passed his fourteenth wind hours ago and he wasn't sure there would be a fifteenth.

"Yeah ok," Dean conceded. "We'll just play along for another couple of hours and then spring Sam and get to the bottom of all this." Dean shrugged. "Actually taking him to Missouri might not be that bad of an idea, she is a psychic after all. A really grouchy one and not nearly as easy on the eyes as Pam was, but still, she's good at what she does. Heck maybe Sammy and I didn't even run into whatever this is here. Maybe we're not looking at this from the right angle."

"Well," Bobby started, "it wasn't like we could just leave your brother to fend for himself while we played this is your life and went traveling around to all the places you two have been the last month or so, but now we can."

The elder hunter's eyes met those of his sad, dejected friend's and relayed all the comfort they could.

"We will figure this out Dean, you and Sam will be ok, it's just gonna take some more time and with the kid getting sprung tomorrow we'll have everything we need to find it, no matter what it may be."

Before Dean could respond, his phone began to play AC-DC's highway to hell from the spot it had landed after it's owners little temper tantrum sent it flying. As he bent down to pick the device up, the caller ID flashed West More across its illuminated screen. Both he and Bobby had visited Sam not more than five hours ago and had made arrangements to pick him up at 2pm the following afternoon. _Why would they be calling him now? _

Sam was still considered a low level patient and couldn't make calls himself so there was no reason for them to be calling, _unless_… Dean blood ran cold. Yes Sam could have a lead and snuck out to call but that didn't make since either. If his brother had found the culprit, he wouldn't be calling Dean, since he couldn't hear or see him, so it had to be the hospital and there was only one reason they'd be calling this late. Something happened.

Moving a shaking thumb to his lime green answer button, Dean did his best to calm the torrent of fear which swam inside his gut. Had they shipped his little brother off to a maximum security mental hospital? Had Sammy finally snapped at the constant stream of employees he was forced to interact with, sending him to a forever padded room? Did Sam's long reserve of pent up anger finally come bursting through the tender crust of contentment that held it at bay?

With a shuddered breath and a quick motion to Bobby to hold off on questions, Dean answered the phone.

"Hello?" He asked tentatively.

"Is this Dean Singer?" A light, feminine voice asked.

"Yeah, who's this?" Dean replied, his alert beacon reaching def-con two out of instinct.

Although he held his tone steady, seemingly unwavering and calm, there was an earthquake of quivers erupting inside as the possibilities of why he was being phoned filtered through Dean's mind.

"This is Dr. Jackie Michaels, the resident physician at West More Mental hospital. I have some news regarding your brother Samuel Singer."

The women's voice was light and airy, even gentle if one didn't listen to close, but for somebody like Dean who'd been trained to notice even the smallest discrepancy it was clear she was dreading what was to come out of her mouth next.

"Aaannnd?" Dean questioned.

There was a stagnant pause on the other end before the soft, feathery voice once again filled the line.

"I'm afraid we've had a crisis in regards to your brother's care. Sam has, well, unfortunately, he's had a very severe reaction to his medication and it's caused some pretty devastating complications. I need for you to get here as soon as you can so I can explain the situation in detail. I don't feel it proper to deliver this news over the phone."

Shock radiated through Dean's already overtaxed body as the final words left the physicians mouth. _Had his brother had been injured because he wasn't there to protect him?_

Before Dean could process what was happening he felt his body disintegrate. Legs liquefied by alarm, knees collapsing in on them selves like an intricate house of cards swept up in a windstorm, he felt gravity take hold and pull him under. It was one thing to experience a bout of extreme anger as he'd done earlier or shock in a single moment but to go from one to the other in a matter of seconds made the unsteady man's head spin. Dean's mind quickly raced to the deepest, darkest corner of his psyche and held tight to the old memories contained there. _Was his brother dying…again?_

Dean saw Bobby hastily rolling towards him a look of panic plastered all over his otherwise stoic face but instead of easing the older man's concern, Dean focused his full attention on the small black contraption tightly gripped in his quivering hand. Slowly, the frightened hunter raised it to his ear once again.

"Is, is he alive?" He asked, dread's nasty claws clenching his already ragging heart.

The voice was back, this time much stronger and surprisingly apologetic.

"Yes, yes he's alive, I'm so sorry if I made you think otherwise. Please know if Sam's life was in danger he would be in the hospital right now, not still at West More."

Dean shook his head. _Did these people not know who they were messing with? _Nobody scared the crap out of Dean Winchester and got away with it. _How dare they freak him out like that? _

"So what the hell are we talking about if Sammy's ok? Why call me at 9 o'clock at night and scare the hell out of me?"

"I wish I could say everything was alright, Mr. Singer, but the truth is, it's not. Now although your brother is not in danger of dying, he has suffered substantial damage and I don't feel comfortable giving you the finite details over the phone, so please, how soon can you get here?"

"I, ah, I can be there in ten minutes I'm staying at the lay low motel off 15th street, I'm just around the corner."

There was a burst of relief let loose in a sigh on the other end of the line and Dr. Michaels' voice softened even further.

"I'm very glad, Mr. Singer. I'll see you in a few minutes then. Just come to the front and ask for me, I'll be out to meet you as soon as I know you've arrived." With that the phone line fell silent and Dean was left to reconcile what he needed to do next.

The ride to West More, although short and relatively uneventful, was filled with muted tension. Before they'd left, Dean had managed to give Bobby a brief overview as to why they were departing and he was grateful for that, but was troubled as to what they would find once they arrived at their destination.

The one and only thing the hunter's had managed to discuss at any real length, was the fact that Sam hadn't taken any form of medication for over four days. There was no way he'd have a reaction to drugs he wasn't even taking. Both men knew this left only two dismal conclusions. One; the hospital had found out Sam was dosing the toilet instead of himself and resumed their force feeding, or two; there _**was**_ a supernatural villain who'd managed to dodge every attempt the men had made to find it. The big question, hanging in the air like a foul perfume, was what had gotten to Sam and how had it slipped past them?

The thought ravaged Bobby's brain like a flesh eating parasite, he was the captain of research for God's sake, how could he have missed it? They'd looked everywhere for even the smallest of clues, sifting through piles upon piles of useless information and still found nothing that explained how they'd gotten to where they were.

Taking a deep, semi-calming breath, Bobby glanced over at his chauffer. Even though the younger man was silent, his stunning green eyes busy scanning the roadway ahead of them, it was easy to see the battle raging inside his young head. Dean's usually confident shoulders hung low, his callused hands tightly gripped the defenseless steering wheel with resound vigor, and his handsome face was scrunched with worry. _Oh yeah_, Bobby thought, _this was going to be a veeeeeerrrryyy long night_!

Sam felt as if he were locked away in the deepest recesses of a long forgotten prison. Not a prison made of brick and mortar, mind you, but rather one of flesh and bone. With each touch his now useless body encountered, the urge to defend itself exploded like a nuclear bomb in a raging tornado. Anger and fear multiplying within the young man's mind with vicious ease. Even the simplest of contact caused a flurry of bridled activity to resonate within him, creating a whirlwind of excitement that just begged to escape. No matter how much Sam's senses screamed for some form of progress, his psyche urging frozen, stagnant limbs to respond, the efforts were met with concrete defiance. Flaccid, useless appendages rebelling in stationary, paralyzed insolence, they hung unmoving at his aching sides.

Long ago deposited in a wheelchair following an extensive, yet brief, trip to the hospital, in which Sam was at the mercy of strangers, unable to participate in the injustices brought down upon him, including the demeaning removal of his sickeningly opaque scrubs, an unsettling trip through an MRI machine that did little more than shake his fillings loose, and the very torturous act of being re-clothed by an orderly who'd all to comfortingly referred to himself as Mel, Sam now sat alone, unprotected and unmanned. Back within the confines of West More the isolated hunter felt an eerie chill of defeat settle down on him. A frozen statue in a sea of hidden chaos, he wasn't sure if he should be relieved or horrified by this fact that once again he was under the watchful, yet distant, eye of Irving, the world conquering trickster.

As if he were a piece of unneeded furniture, Mark and Dave, had hastily crammed Sam's motionless carcass inside the claustrophobic space he'd called home the last few days and disappeared from his limited view. Sam would have sworn the two were competing in a strapping contest as they quickly buckled his arms, legs, and chest to the electric wheelchair, taking little regard for humiliation or respect. Fleeing the premises the instant their task was satisfied. Being that Sam was no longer a threat, considering he couldn't even lift a finger to pick his nose, they'd shoved him in the corner and left him to rot.

Sam silently agonized over how he would alert both Bobby and Dean to the information he'd gained only a few short hours before. Information now locked securely inside his vibrantly active mind with no venue of escape, at least none Sam could think of, anyway. _How could he tell them anything when he couldn't even convey the fact that he was alive inside his petrified corpse?_

Encased in the confines of his own, damaged body, Sam remained unchanged. His mind alert, bursting with information so desperately needing to be expunged, but not allowed due to physical limitations that were not his own. It had been hours since the trickster jabbed a needle into his arm allowing unknown chemicals to take over his mobility and leave him waiting. Yes, he could breath, swallow, even urinate without aid, but everything else was out of reach.

The damaged hunter had often spent restless, childhood nights, pondering what it would be like to be trapped inside ones own skin, Bobby's injury, once more bringing that concept to the forefront. If you were a hunter, or spent time around them, you knew the risks and they weren't good. But, like cops and others who dabbled in the dangerous, those thoughts were pushed aside, tabled, and left for later, nobody needed to dwell on the "what if's" when there were lives to save. All dwelling on the idea would do, would be to allow it to consume you and cloud your judgment risking not only your own life but those you'd sworn to save.

Sam's surrogate father's incapacitation made the revelation personal, that was for sure. No longer just a theory or story you heard around the firelight. The fears of a young child brought to the forefront by reality. For Sam, It resurrected his childhood ponderings and illuminated fears he had long since forgotten.

Sure Sam knew Bobby wasn't the only solider brought down by such a devastating twist of jagged fate, but he was the closest. The young man, still wrapped in his twenties, had seen many hunters consumed by this same tumultuous outcome but none as large a fixture in his live as Bobby.

Currently, however, Sam was facing a different kind of injury; one born of mysterious narcotics and a power hungry trickster. This was not the work of ill timed bullets or bone crushing falls. His agility was not ripped away from the battlefield by injury or carelessness but rather a monster using him for sick entertainment and revenge.

As Sam's mind filled with conflicting thoughts, each crowding the only muscle at his disposal, he prayed he would not spend the remainder of his days confined to limitations otherwise unheard of. He begged whoever would listen that he would once again command the power of his body and be the controller its actions. Sam would die outright if he were forced to sit idle by and watch as his dead limbs were manipulated and arranged like a child's plaything. His fierce independence could not handle that as his lasting place in life. He would die first.

Still debating between thoughts of a child and worries of a man, Sam's mind raced back to his earlier inquiries. The hunters he had known to be taken down were condemned to live out their lives as less than what they once were, their vigor's washed away like granules of sand in high tide.

Panic began to run ramped inside Sam's soul as he thought of what a life with no control would mean. Each time Sam faced that particular reality, a dark chill ignited his spine sending ice laden chills through his body. Anybody facing the things they faced on a daily basis thought of such things but never held onto them never actually entertaining the idea that they personaly would come to know it from the inside out.

At least with Bobby he had the use of his arms. The man's legs may be dead, thanks once again to Sam, but he could still function, maybe not on the same level, hunter's needed every part of their bodies to properly do their jobs, but he could feed himself, speak, research, heck even drive. Sam never thought he'd be envious of Bobby's current condition, but after spending the last few hours completely helpless, despite himself, he was starting to change his mind.

At the moment, Sam was devoid of all the privileges he'd taken for granted his entire life and that, above all else, terrified him. He was unprotected, helpless, completely immobile, silent, and trapped at the mercy of irresponsible strangers while the thing that did this too him paced his doorway, watching the him like he was a daytime soap opera.

Sam prayed that whatever that freak of a Trickster had given him would eventually ware off and he would get his body back. He couldn't imagine spending the rest of his life like he was now, frozen in his own skin, screaming silently for somebody, anybody to realize he was alive inside his prison. It had only been a few hours since his world was flipped even further upside down, but already he felt the walls closing in on him like a python squeezing the life out of it's victim. Sam could only imagine the pleasure his peril was giving Irving and the thought made him ill.

Once again, Sam was a sideshow put forth for some twisted monster's entertainment and under laid plan. A toy set aside for some sick freaks revenge and pure amusement. If he couldn't find some way to alert his brother and Bobby who knew what would happen.

_Was the Trickster toying with him when he said he wouldn't alert the devil? Was he going to simply get board with his game and throw Sam to the wolves, devouring the whole world in the process. Or would this creature do as he said, hide in the shadows and watch as yet another piece of the Winchester's resolve was torn down and smashed into fine particles of what it previously was?_

The worst thing, Sam concluded, about his predicament was that he could still feel everything, nothing, not one sensation was lost on him. Even a brush of soft cloth on cool flesh was acknowledged and being frozen in ones own skin gave him ample opportunity to focus on such finite, otherwise insignificant, details. Who knew something as simple as an itchy toe would possess the power to drive the great Sam Winchester crazy, but it did, and that just pissed him off.

A push of air, followed by wood hitting metal and the sound of angry footsteps broke Sam from his cage of erratic thoughts focusing his attention on the door that separated him from the lunatics he currently resided with.

Pooled in harsh, neon lighting from the hallway, stood a very intimidating looking Dean Winchester. The man's face worn and tight, his clothes wrinkled and mismatched, he was unaffected by the appearance of one very unhappy Dr. Michaels who showed up right behind him only seconds later. Her breathless inhales showing clear evidence Sam's big brother had bolted from her company at the first manageable opportunity.

"Mr. Singer." She wheezed trying to catch her breath. Her small hands resting sluggishly on her muscular thighs.

"You can't just break away from me like that, we have protocols here. We should be in my office, not disrupting your brother! He needs rest, not disruption!"

Even though Sam wasn't the focus of his brother's unmistakable rage he still felt a shiver run down his spine at the look which was displayed across the man's face. It was pretty clear Dean was not listening to anything anybody was going to say to him at this point and Sam couldn't be happier for that fact. Finally, FINALLY, he was going to get out of this place and he couldn't be happier.

As more feet clapped the linoleum, the sounds getting louder with each slap, Dean paid the distraction no head. No matter who was coming he was not backing down. Walking swiftly, the eldest Winchester quickly faced his brother's still form.

"Don't you dare give me that crap lady." Dean seethed kneeling down and palming his brothers lax face, their eyes meeting briefly before Dean attention was stolen away once again.

"My brother's strapped to a wheelchair for God's sake, you yourself just told me he's paralyzed. You have anything to say to me you do it while I'm packing his belongs and taking him out of this house of horrors."

Dean's eyes softened as he took in the state of his sibling.

"God Sammy I wish you could hear me right now, kiddo. I'm taking you out of here, no matter what, we're leaving tonight and nobody…" Dean raised his voice as he heard Mark and Dave finally catch up to them, both huffing with minimal oxygen as they tried to fill their lungs. "Nobody is going to stop me!"

Dr. Michaels sighed with relief as her reinforcements finally made it to her side followed quickly by one pissed off Bobby Singer.

"Mr. Singer." She stated, an authoritative tone lining every word.

"You are not authorized to take Sam out of here, not to mention he's going to need extensive medical care. You don't have the facilities to deal with this kind of impairment and I can not allow you to take him!"

Dean's jaw clenched as he stood and slowly, methodically, he turned towards the doctor and her two goons.

"Don't you dare lady." He began, his voice accompanied by a deathly calm tone.

"My brother was fine before he came here. He was capable of doing everything for himself, but now." Dean raised his arms and encircled the room.

"Now he's not even capable of wiping his own mouth."

Gently, Dean pulled his sleeve over his fist and wiped a long trail of drool that had slipped from his siblings chin.

"Before the kid got here he was perfectly healthy, now he can't even wipe his own ass. And why?" Dean's voice raised another octave and he once again met the doctors small rounded eyes.

"Because you and _**your facility **_drugged him and allowed him to have a reaction to those drugs. You even think about stopping me from taking my little brother out of here and I'll have a lawyer here so fast your head will spin, you got it? I'm taking Sam tonight, not tomorrow, not five minutes from now, tonight! I don't care if I have to bulldoze every pansy ass orderly you have in this place I'm taking my brother and I'm going!"

Dean raised an eyebrow and glanced at both bodyguards before resting back on the doctor.

"You understand what I'm saying?"

Dr. Michaels' lips pursed as she considered her options. The last thing the institute needed was bad publicity and a patient having a major stroke because of improper medication dosages would be at the top of the list of bad publicity. Especially if the young mans brother was leading the charge, but still, she was a medical doctor and she had an obligation to give her patients ever bit of care she could. At the very least She owed it to Sam Singer to try and reason with his brother, regardless of the consequences.

Trying a less threatening tone, hoping reason and compassion would reign the elder man in, Jackie spoke.

"Mr. Singer, your brother is going to need round the clock medical attention. You're going to need to be trained in how to take care of him. At least wait until we can get you some education before you just up and take him away. He shouldn't be moved right now, it's not fare. It will compromise his health."

Dean laughed.

"Compromise Sam's health?" He asked. "And you think keeping him here will be a bed of roses? You're the reason he is in the state he is. Maybe he does need medical attention but not from the likes of you, that's for damn sure. Sam's not in any danger of dying if I take him with me you said yourself the damage is done. But if he stays here, with you, in this little hell hole, God only knows what's gonna happen to him next. Now you have two options lady and I'd consider them very carefully. One; you and the two knuckles heads waiting on your orders, help me load my brother's stuff up and get him out to my car or Two; I get on the horn and call every news station within a hundred mile radius and bring every little skeleton this place has hiding in its security locked closets out in the open. Say bye to that precious funding you're all so fond of, cause it'll be gone. You know just as well as I do, I have you bye the balls on this one. Your hospital is totally at fault and one word from me and all your precious little walls will come crumbling down."

Dean slowly walked to Sam's night stand and pulled it open. Momentarily meeting Bobby's silent gaze he smiled. Knowing full well Bobby wanted a piece of the action he finished his rant.

"Oh yeah let's not forget my uncle here." Dean pointed at Bobby. "While I'm dialing the Oprah Winfrey show, he'll be on the line with our lawyer. So what's the verdict, you gonna help me or am I gonna have to play hard ball?"

A/N: So as I explained above, I have not updated for medical reasons, but also because I lost faith as season 6 progressed. I miss the boy's relationship and after what happened during the vamp episode my heart was just not into writing as the boys veering so far apart has sickened me and made me very sad L. I'm a Sam girl through and through and feel there has been little to no respect given to my favorite character which has caused me to loose that excitement I get whenever I know a new episode is coming up. Up until episode "truth" I wasn't even looking forward to watching the show as it didn't feel like Supernatural to me and that above all else made me sick. Luckily we have some answers now and I've found a sliver of hope that we will not only get our Sam back, but the brother's relationship as well. I miss the humor, the excitement, and the drama that was so effortlessly interwoven into the story. It was hard to gain the excitement to write when the writers were not giving me any of what made the show so great. Here's to us getting the Sam we all know and love back in the next few episodes. Here's to the real Supernatural coming back and knocking on our television screens begging to be viewed. I want a seventh season and I hope this season doesn't stop us from getting that. Also, since Sam's still not been in a hospital bed I want that to happen this year too. At least as an I'm sorry for giving us the all Dean show with little to know Sam. Even in the episode directed by Jensen where his character was written out of a lot of scenes, we still saw more air time with Dean than we did Sam. Here's hoping that stops now and we see much, much more of the sexy, kind hearted Sammy we know is still out there. J Thanks as always, Nicole.


	7. Author note

_**Author Note:**_

_**Hi Everybody, no this is not another update, but something weird is happening with my fanfic account. For some reason my alerts keep getting disabled and I'm not getting my review alerts for this story. I've turned the alerts on AGAIN but I can't get the link that takes me to your reviews and allows me to reply to them, so I'm doing this to at least let you all know that I appreciate your reviews and couldn't be happier for each and everyone of them. I even save the reviews but because this site keeps messing everything up I can't copy and paste them to my save file. **_

_**SO THANK YOU FOR YOUR REVIEWS. **_

_**If anybody knows how I can get to my reviews, please let me know!**_

_**My goal is to at least reach 100 reviews for this story. Thanks again, Nicole.**_


	8. Chapter 8

**This is a story for the Sam/Jared birthday exchange over at CWESS. This story is in no way made for profit and is simply for fun.**

A/N: When I got my challenge I was really worried because I wasn't at all sure how I was going to take the wonderful Vonnie's idea and make a story out of it. I hope this is even marginally close to what you had in mind!

Prompt info:

Vonnie: What I would like. 

1. My 2nd prompt from the Secret Santa exchange:  
Dean is missing, or at least that's what Sam thinks. In reality he is there and everyone can hear and see him but Sam, who is under a spell by the monster of the week. While Sam is talking to everyone, trying to figure out where he is, everyone around him, including Dean thinks Sam has gone nuts.

_Bonus points for lots of hurt/limp Sam, awesome Dean, Bobby and/or John. _

**SUMMARY: **After Sam wakes up in a hospital, with injuries he can't remember, he worries both doctors and hunters alike as he seems to be slipping from reality. Can Dean and Bobby get him back on track before he's deemed a ward of the state and institutionalized for good?

Title: Sanity's Serenade

A/N: No beta here, all mistakes are mine. You've been warned. : )

A/N 2: Hello, I know it's been quite a while since I've been on the writing circuit and I very much apologize for the delay of 2 years! As a few of you know, I became pretty sick the year I started writing this and I just couldn't get my muse to concentrate past the bouts of medical problems I was experiencing. Long story short in addition to the Type one diabetes I've had since 1995, I discovered that I have MS (Multiple Sclerosis) and even though I've been feeling pretty good the last year or so I just couldn't get my muse to come out and play. Over the last two years I've had months of nerve issues, vertigo, pain, and double vision thanks to the MS, the next year 2011 when I was diagnosed I had my mom hospitalized twice, the second time for an entire month from MRSA, my husband had to have back surgery then two months later was hospitalized with a bad infection and lost his job due to it, then our truck was repossessed, and finally this past year I lost my job, soooooooo, I've been a little out of my writing element and quite frankly just didn't have the desire to create anything. Now, however, I've decided with Muse cooperation or not, I'm going to try and delve back into writing and find some joy there again. I feel good, I've been lucky enough to be relatively healthy regardless of my medial issues, I've found a less stressful better job, my husband is employed, and God willing, things will start to look up.

A/N: 3 Thank you to all who have left such great reviews, who have alerted me and/or this story, and who are still out there. I hope that I don't disappoint. To those who have left reviews and anonymous reviews that were less than nice, whelp, all I can say it thanks! Because, each time a review is left, regardless of the content, it ups my number which for any of us who write on here, whether you admit it or not, is exciting! The higher the review number the better you feel. No matter what it says, the review still counts!

And MOST importantly, I am sooooooo SORRY to Vonnie, she is a fantastic person who deserved much more for her prompt than she got for me. I know it's been a loooong time and I hope that it can, at the very least, bring her some Joy. It's not as good as her stuff, but I hope she enjoys it none the less!

Chapter 7

Dr. Michaels felt the fight she usually reserved for insubordinate and unruly families leave her body. Her patient's brother was right. _I__**f**_ she pressed the issue further not only would she have to deal with the rather intimidating man before her and his obvious "anger issues," but she'd also have to endure the public backlash his threats would instigate. There was always a fall guy in these kinds of situations and she had no illusions a struggling doctor from nowhere Indiana, trying to work off student loans paid by an obscure mental hospital, would not be the perfect patsy.

Without a hint of doubt, Jackie knew exactly who the media would side with. No way would the sympathy lye with a struggling physician working in a mental facility. Why would it? Although she truly cared for her patients and did whatever she could to ease their suffering that would never come to fruition. She'd be thrown under a rather weighty bus, one big enough to suffocate her the moment she tried to defend herself. Instead the focus would be pushed souly on the once healthy young man now crippled and helpless at the hands of a careless drug overdose. All she had, all the audience would see, was a big gothic building and patients the world had long since forgotten. Nobody, not her bosses, nor her patients, would stand up for her and she wasn't delusional enough to believe that they would. Practical medicine for her was a rarity at best. Most days, the direst of matters she dealt with consisted of injuries inflicted by invisible ninja's or a patient swallowing the sporadic checker piece. On rare occasions, if she was really lucky, she'd get a virialant case of the stomach flu. There would be no softening that scenario, no matter how she tried to painted it.

Who wouldn't side with the strong, attractive older brother whose mesmerizing emerald eyes shown such deep sorrow, pain, and understandable anger? His story would surely blanket the nightly news and leave no room for interpretation past the tag line: Sibling hell bent on revenge relating to improper care of little brother. _Care_, mind you, her hospital inflicted on the once independent young man. The potential headlines coated her brain like a tickertape banner in Time Square. "_Local mental hospital causes permanent damage to otherwise healthy 26 year old._" Add in a nice big photo displaying the soft, kind eye's of the patient in question, his handsome young body crippled, completely immobile, vibrant muscles deteriorating with each passing second, drool slipping unattended from his lax mouth as he sits strapped to a mechanical wheelchair his paralyzed "every day Joe" uncle gently palming his shoulder and it'd be lights out for not only her career, such as it was, but the facility as well. In a nutshell, Jackie was screwed and she knew it. Even now, it would be a miracle for the facility to avoid major fallout, multiple that by a threatened media frenzy and they were done before they began.

Sighing, defeat evident, Jackie cleared her throat and relaxed her shoulders. Hearing the heavy breathing orderlies behind her, itching to be unleashed, she silently offered her hand signaling they cease and desist their mounting attack.

"Ok." She stated simply. "I'll relent, but you have to promise me that you will get in touch with a clinic or social worker or something that will teach you how to care for your brother. He's no longer the strong young man that you left with us and he's going to need a lot of care. Is that understood, do we have a deal?"

Dean felt a small amount of tension leave his muscles as he allowed a moment's reprieve from his anger. One battle down, God knew how many more to go.

"Yeah fine."

Privately Dean knew he would never pursue the legal clams threatened. How could he? He wasn't even using his own name! Besides all that, he was now more than positive the damage done to his brother was not the work of some stupid medical error, but something deceivingly supernatural. Although, he thought, there was no reason the quacks needed to know that. Currently he had them by the balls and that's exactly where he wanted them. Nice and cozy, warm and secure right in the palm of his hands. Dean still had more he needed from this medieval dungeon and alienating them, at this point, would not work in his favor.

"There's one more thing I need from you people and I think it'd be in your best interest to provide it." Dean spoke once again locking eyes with Bobby. The man gave him a cursory glance but kept silent.

This particular issue had crossed Dean's mind right after the doctor informed him of his brother's condition and, unfortunately, he knew there was no way around it. Really, he should have thought about it to begin with, but then again, he had no idea what he was going to walk into once he arrived so how could he of?

"Ok." Jackie voiced slowly, annunciating the phrase strategically. "What is it that you require?"

"Well, first off." Dean said, crossing his arms over his chest. "We're going to need to procure the contraption you have Sam bolted into until we can get him something better. Second, you're going to have to put up with my uncle, here, until I can come back and grab him. Since you didn't give me the heads up that my brother's paralyzed, I didn't plan on needing extra space to transport two wheelchair bound people. If you had told me, I would have been a little more prepared."

Raising his eyebrow, Dean made it a point to glare at the doctor and her juggernaut fiends silently daring them to fight him on his demands.

"That's not gonna be an issue, _is it_?" The elder brother pressed, his words clear and threatening.

As there was no immediate response, Dean spread his arms in a dramatic V, encircling the room.

"I mean, if you can't spare the chair and all, I could just, oh I don't know, have you're idiot goons stuff my brother in the back of my car and then drive him straight over to the news station. It is channel 5, right? I believe they call themselves channel five investigative news?" Dean placed his hands on his brother's shoulders. "You know, explain why Sam's not able to move on his own, why he can't get his 6'4" ass out of the back of my car?" Dean shrugged. "I think it'd give them something _real_ juicy for the 11 o'clock news?"

Dean checked his watch casually and stuck his pointer finger in the air. "I think there's just enough time to get there. I can see it now. Local gargoyle infested sanatorium strips healthy 26 year old man of faculties and leaves him to fend for himself without use of dignity saving device." Dean winked at the orderlies. "I really should have been a writer don't you think dumb and dumber? That's pretty damn catchy right?"

The eldest Winchester gave a devilish smile, made quick eye contact with his surrogate father, and once again glared at his impromptu audience.

"It would be a great story to start off our legal claim, something to showcase just how appealing it really is? A real human interest story. I can't imagine those generous fat cats that line your pockets would be too happy about it though. Can't see them wanting to give all their cash to a place that strips healthy guys, like my kid brother here, of their faculties and leaves them helpless and dependent. Wouldn't be good for their humanitarian images."

"Nonsense!" A high pitched, bellow radiated into the room, its owner momentarily hidden behind the orderlies and small doctor.

At once, all eyes turned and focused on their newest addition. Pretty much forgotten in the room, Sam felt a sharp spike of fear grip him and cloud his mental focus as he took in the owner of the voice. Standing tall, awkward, and jubilant, was the creator of his current turmoil, _**Irving**_. The creature, smug and indigent as ever, taking extra care to meet Sam's gaze and prove, even in a room full of people, he could still convey a message of fear to its intended target.

Engaging the crowd, Irving began to explain his objection. With a sickly sweet timbre his psychotically calm voice continued.

"No way could I allow you to make your poor uncle wait here." He spread his arms. "In this place. I'm almost off shift and I'd be more than happy to take one of the transport vans and drive your brother myself. I'm usually the one that transports patients anyhow, so it'd be nothing for me to do it now. Besides," he put a hand to his chest, "it's the least I could do considering I was the one that found him." He winked at Sam. "Even though I didn't have anything to do with the medication mix-up, I still feel responsible that I couldn't save all of you from this pain."

Irving pulled a dark colored sucker out of his pocket, obliviously shedding the wrapper, and shoved it in his freckled face.

"Sucker, anyone?" He asked, the smirk of superiority never leaving its connection with Sam's frightened eyes.

Jackie was both relived and unsettled by the RN's entrance. Sometimes the guy just didn't have the couth needed to deal with a patient's family.

"I don't think anybody needs a piece of candy right now, Irving, thank you." She replied, not sure where that had come from but focusing back on the task at hand.

Irving shrugged his Gumby like shoulders and comfortably strolled into the room without missing a beat. Nonchalantly, the awkward looking nurse placed his sweaty palm on Sam's shoulder, the smooth operator delivering the younger Winchester a smirk only he could see.

"I feel Sam should leave here with dignity and I'd be more than happy to provide that to him."

The odd, depraved smile that followed Irving's statement set Dean's teeth on edge, causing him to tense even further. Something about this new arrival rubbed him the wrong way, like a rock in your shoe that you just couldn't find. He couldn't place the feeling that placated him but he trusted it rang true.

"Ah thanks," he glanced at the odd little man's nametag, "Irving, but I'm not gonna let anybody take my brother out of here except me, that's non-negotiable."

Sam felt a wave of relief wash over his useless body as Dean's words sunk in. He wasn't going to be left alone, vulnerable and exposed to whatever new, depraved games his tormentor had in store for him. Once again, he would be shielded, blanketed by the safety of his big brother. "Safe."

At Sam's age, and considering his size and advanced training, you'd think the comfort and protection of one's older sibling would be less coveted, but for somebody in the Winchester's line of work, with the bull's-eye currently attached to their back, it was, in fact, a Godsend. Besides, it was one thing to be frozen within your own skin, shadowed by a psychopath in a mental institution surrounded by people, but to be trapped with one in a 2 ton moving piece of rabid machinery, completely helpless and vulnerable, strapped to a wheelchair you couldn't control, and well, let's just say that was not a scenario Sam wanted to entertain.

"Well," Irving began again. "I guess I could take your uncle then."

He shrugged unceremoniously.

"I mean that way no one would have to wait here. What do you say, do we have a deal?"

Bobby and Dean exchanged heavy glances and Dean was just about to refuse when Bobby beat him to the punch, all be it, not the punch he was anticipating.

"Ok, I'll ride shot gun with ya, but we stick close to my nephew's car. I don't want to lose sight of em," Bobby cleared his throat, "you know in case Sam has trouble or something."

The absurdly, malevolent creature wearing the façade of a mild mannered RN, flashed a fantastically creepy grin and deceptively nodded his head.

"Oh trust me, Mr. Singer," He paused, beady little eyes wandering.

"Well Bobby," his eyebrows vee'd as he raised his hand and pointed his finger in the air.

"Hey can I call you Bobby?" Irving inquired, his previous train of thought temporarily interrupted.

Bobby's eyebrows furrowed, but he responded just the same.

"Ah, yeah I guess, Bobby's fine."

"Well," Irving began again, his focus more on the subject in question rather than who he was addressing.

"I wouldn't dream of letting Sam, here, out of my sight." With that, he grasped Sam's shoulder blade, mincingly digging his thick, haggard fingernails into the boy's muscular appendage.

Silently, locked inside his own world as those around him remained unaware, Sam prayed his nightmare would soon be ending. Rationally, however, he knew Winchester luck never gave way to such an easy outcome and he prepared himself for what was likely to be a very long adventure. The least of which would be when he needed to go to the bathroom or have his clothes changed. A mental picture of Dean having to give him a bath assaulted his thoughts and caused Sam to inwardly cringe.

Bobby, with his unique vantage point at 4 feet high, shifted his focus from the man addressing him to his surrogate nephew. The kid seemed alert, all be it completely immobile. After watching Sam's tension around the male nurse, which grew the closer the man got, he was beyond certain there was something to his current line of thinking. The awkward intuition he felt when the guy had appeared out of nowhere now just another brick in the wall of suspicion he was steadily building against the shady character.

There was an underlingly sinister tone with which Irving, the RN, spoke and it sent ice sickle infused chills down both elder hunter's spines, lighting a frigid inferno under their already tingling spidy senses. What the hell was up with this guy and why was he so damn unsettling? Was this a play of something supernatural or were they simply barking up the wrong tree, again!?

Something was up, that was for sure, but neither Bobby nor Dean could pin point exactly what it was. Maybe the guy was just a sick freak who took pleasure in tormenting the mentally challenged? Or maybe, just maybe, considering the circumstances, he was the final piece to a puzzle that had eluded them all for the past few days.

A look of unease rested easily on both men's worn faces, no words needing to be conveyed towards the cause of their apprehension. If this was the thing tormenting Sam, it would be better to get it alone and destroy it where no one else could misinterpret and intervene. That, of course, meant playing along, engaging and entertaining the guys obvious interest in the youngest Winchester, and leading him along just as he'd done them. Soon enough, the time would be right and, human or not, the guy was going down.

SDSDSDSDSDSDSDSDSDSDSDSDSDSN DSDSDSDSDSD

Dean, being the impatient brother he was, decided he'd test the waters, just stick his toe in and see what came lurking. He knew Bobby wouldn't agree, but it was HIS brother that had been affected by whatever was going on and it was HIS choice what he did about it.

"So," Dean began clearing his throat, "just so I know my uncle here's in good hands, how long _have_ you worked here? I mean, can't say I remember seeing you the last couple times I've been by to visit my brother and you seem to be really invested in him. I thought I knew everybody that was looking after Sam."

"Oh I've been around, Mr. Singer, just hiding in the shadows as it were." Irving winked at Sam, then paused seemingly freezing in mid thought.

"Mind if I call you by your first name as well, Mr. Singer. I sure hate formalities with people I consider family?"

He stilled as Dean's face morphed from one of discontent to that of angry confusion.

"It's Dean, right?"

"Considering that's my name and all, Yeah dude, have a freaken ball but let's get one thing clear, we are NOT family."

Irving presented a fantastically large grin, overly bleached teeth gleaming in the harsh hospital lighting.

"Fantastic!" He shouted clapping his hands together. "I hate pretences, always makes things feel so," he shuttered, "stuffy, and maybe we're not family exactly but I sure feel like I know you boys, you know?" He asked once more using his beady little eyes to scan the room's occupants. "But considering the special attention I've given Sam here, the creature patted Sam's shoulder, I feel close to it."

Watching the youngest Winchester out of the corner of his eyes, Bobby could have sworn he saw a disgusted grimace quickly flash across Sam's otherwise frozen features. One thing he was sure of, though, was the unabated eye roll that engaged the young hunters hazel orbs. Yep, the junk yard owner concluded, there was definitely something going on that neither he nor Dean had been privy to. Although at this point Bobby was more than convinced the youngest Winchester wasn't so blind to the situation confronting them. If only Bobby had the power to break Sam's forced silence and retrieve the valuable information he knew was buried within the boy's brain.

Jackie cleared her throat, gaining everyone's attention. It had become clear to her not long ago that things were wandering further and further from the matter at hand and she was steadily losing control.

"Well, then, it's all settled. The hospital will loan out it's wheelchair for Sam until something better can be arranged." The women's petite hands pointed at each person in question as she spoke.

"Our very generous float nurse, Irving, will go the extra mile to get all of you home at the same time. And, Sam will be getting the care he so desperately needs as promised by his brother. Under the circumstances we couldn't ask for more, I'd imagine this is still satisfactory with everybody?"

Jackie's clear, yet stressed focus zeroed in on Dean.

"Of course, you're going to have to sign a few papers regarding the wheelchair, you know, so we know where it will be," she took a breath that leaded to a tired sigh, "but other than that and some final discharge documents, I think we are looking at an easy departure. It was already brought to my attention this afternoon that Sam was going to be discharged tomorrow, so everything should be pretty well prepared for his departure."

"Great!"

Dean said clapping his hands together, the volume echoing over bare walls.

"Let's get this party started and my little brother out of this hell-hole you call a hospital, shall we?"

Finally done with all the idiotic formalities, Sam felt his skin crawl as Dean pushed him past Irving. It had only taken 15 minutes to pack everything up, sign the discharge and loan papers, and officially be free, but for Sam it had been waaaaay to long. The creatures penetrating eye's following suit as the convoy moved beyond its direct glare. The younger brother wanting nothing more, in that very moment, than to break the Supernatural pharmaceutical hold he was bound too, grab the bone infused knife his sibling undoubtedly had hidden in his sock kept their when engaging metal detectors, and slit the things slimy throat in one swift, calculated movement of agility. Sam Winchester may not have grown up loving the hunter's lifestyle and training he was exposed to, but he was good at it non the less.

Sure, Sam knew his fantasy wouldn't kill the creature, only a stake of sharpened wood could do that, but it would be pleasing and satisfying none the less. The surprise everybody would be exposed to, considering his sudden and unexpected ability to break the stone hold he was subject to, a fantastic parting gift to the mid-evil mental freak show screwing with them all. But, as Sam had become all too familiar over the last few hours, his aching body was powerless to comply with even the simplest of commands. Any physical desire he retained past breathing, swallowing, and the much appreciated ability he held of blinking now a memory, thanks to the monster lurking inches from the people he cared for most in this world, anything more just a fleeting desire.

Silently, the boy's mind raced with various scenarios Bobby would face once alone with the trickster. Sam knew that although tough and capable, Bobby's useless legs were going to hinder any ability he might hold in fighting the bastard off. Sure Dean would be close by, in the Impala, if Irving chose that moment to take his revenge to a new, sicker level, but as any decent hunter recognized, you only needed a fraction of a second to kill and it would take longer than that to get to the elder man should the need arise.

Sam prayed Irving would leave Bobby alone, after all, his beef was with the Winchester's and their one remaining friend had already endured far too much at the hands of their family's cursed legacy.

One thing was for sure; no matter whom their dysfunctional family came in contact with they were marked, unfairly swept into the dark, perverse pool of despair and tragic fate that followed the Winchester family wherever they went. In Sam's mind, it was clear that if you knew him or his kin, even if it was simply from bumping into them, you were marked, branded for all eternity to suffer; a target doomed to live a fate worse than death and would, ultimately, lose something you held dear.

The thought permeated Sam's tired brain causing him to cringe at the destruction he, alone, had brought to those around him. When would this hell end? When would the curse that saturated him, spilling onto those he loved, end? It seemed that no matter how small his involvement with people, they were bound to be destroyed by knowing him in one manner or another. If he ever needed an example that his reasoning was true; all Sam had to do was think of Bobby. The man had been one of their longest running, most trusted friends and allies, a father really, and he had suffered immensely for it. Then there was Pam, Caleb, Ellen, Joe, Ash, Brady, Jessica, and Pastor Jim just to name a few. The list just went on and on. Really, Sam was surprised anybody still stuck by them, there was only so much one could do with a lost cause. Even if they did have a death wish and gave a damn there had to be a point where self preservation won the epic internal battle and you jumped off the sinking ship before you hit the bottom.

A quick turn of the corner yanked Sam from his internal thoughts and placed him back in the land of the living. Irving was still trailing behind them, Sam could tell by the constant banter the creature exuded as they made their way to the main doors. His sick, placid voice drilling into Sam's eardrums like a sinister ear-wig tunneling into the meaty portion of his tiered synapses seeking solace. Dean was doing his best to keep up a steady pace as he made his way to the Impala and Sam appreciated that greatly. If he could, Sam would be yipping with excitement but, as it stood, he was unable to anything other than trace their path with his eyes.

Once free of the thick, intimidating doors separating the men from the outside world, Sam felt another small amount of dread lift from his weary shoulders. The parking lot, not far from their reach greeted his vision, cracked asphalt decorated with the Impala as it sat gleaming with a wash of dull sunshine now obstructed by angry rain clouds clearly invading the young hunter's line of sight. Next to the black beauty was the van which had originally whisked Sam from the hospital he'd awoken in. The memory of being shut behind the confines of the ugly vehicle stuck in the back of his mind. Sam distinctly remembered seeing Bobby sitting, anxiously, outside of the car, his brother, so he was told, leaning against its pristine doorway, shouting some kind of absurdities at the driver as he shut and locked the door securing Sam in the back. One thing that Sam did appreciate at this point, beside the fact that he would soon be away from the asylum and its mind altering drugs, was the fact that he could finally see and hear his older brother. Even though nobody else, hopefully including the demented bastard that had started this whole nightmare in motion, knew he could see him, Sam was elated to have the privilege of seeing Dean for himself.

As the unlikely entourage made it the last few steps to their awaiting transportation, Dr. Michaels forced the attention back on her. Her dark eyes once again focusing on Dean's velvet green ones, she persisted to have the last word. Although she was between a rock and a hard place and would be crucified if she pressed the issue, she had to give her reservations one more try. She may be bowing out because of money and image, but that didn't mean she couldn't, at least, give it one more attempt at civilized sanity if for nothing more than so she could sleep at night.

"Now, Mr. Singer, you know this is not what I would recommend for your brother. In my medical opinion he should be in a rehabilitation facility. Somewhere he can be properly taken care of, where he can receive the proper treatment to aid in his hopeful recovery. You understand that this is against my medical advice, right?"

Dean felt the small fire he'd ignited at the phone call that had originally brought him to this point kick up another steaming notch.

"You have GOT to be kidding me, right lady? First off you guys take my brother from his hospital room, call him a nut-job, shove him full of anti-psycho pills and lock him behind bars." Dean pressed his fingertips to his temples, then threw his hands dramatically into the sky, a dark laugh escaping his pursed lips. "_When_ the kid has a HEAD INJURY, mind you, and you think anything that comes out of your mouth is going to convince me you have one ounce of sense in that tiny little brain of yours? It's because of this damn nut house that my brother can't lift his own hand to wipe his ass. He's 26 years old for God's sake. He's not even able to lift his own head. Nobody listened to me or my uncle when we told you REPEADILY that my brother wasn't crazy, that it was the damn crack to his skull, and you STILL stuck him hear. Then, to add insult to injury, you pumped him full of fucking drugs that caused a freaking stroke."

Dean shook his head dismissively, "Sorry lady but you got nothing that will change my mind. _**Understand**_?" The angry hunter's last word pulled out intensely for full effect.

Dean laughed tensely and grit his teeth, he knew he needed to keep his calm, concentrate his anger on whatever whacked out creature had put them where they currently were, but the rage that had been building in him sense he'd found out Sam and him were the unwilling recruits for angel dress up, was suddenly coming to a not so subtle boil.

"Just be glad I'm too much of a freaking gentleman to deck a chick, or trust me lady, we would be having a whole different kind of conversation right now, got it, honey?"

Noticing the not so subtle anger pouring off the elder brother, Jackie took a few steps backwards. Whelp, she thought to herself, at least she tried, at least now she could put herself to sleep with a clear'ish conscious. Taking a deep breath she spoke once more.

"Ok, Mr. Singer, and don't think for a moment that I am not just as upset as you that this has happened," Dean let a scoff escape his mouth. Jackie ignored it and continued. "But we only did what we did to help your brother, not hurt him. We are extremely sorry that this has happened, and will do whatever we can to aid you and your family in Sam's subsequent recovery. I hope for his and your sake that he is able to recover but you have to understand that he is far from ok. Not only do you have to contend with his injuries from the fall, but his mental illness as well as the stroke. It's not going to be an easy road for any of you and all I want to make clear is that you are going to need help in order to achieve the best results possible. Please don't refuse Sam treatment that could ultimately give him back some of his life." Jackie shook her head. "That's all I'm saying."

Irving walked up and put his large, sweaty palm on Jackie's shoulder. The women although tense and clearly uncomfortable with the situation eased into the giraffe like man's touch affectionately.

"Dr. Michaels has a point boys." He purred. "Nobody wants more than us for Sam to regain full use of his body once again." The creep winked at Sam who was, once again, pushed off to the side of the conversation.

Sam felt his heart skip a beat. Each time the beast locked eyes with him, he felt a shiver reverberate throughout his otherwise helpless body. It was incredibly unnerving to know that something as little as a look provided so much fear and unease for him. With every fiber of his body jumping to frozen attention Sam wanted nothing more than break his paralyzed prison and proclaim to the world that that peculiar string cheese replica of a man was evil and needed a barbed slab of wood thrust into his cold, twisted heart.

Irving, all too aware that his message was received, relished in the energy he gained from the fear his look gave the youngest Winchester. Much better than a triple shot of vivaciously tantalizing sweet cappuccino at the local coffee shop. It was like being the king of a very private, but hilarious joke, he and little Sammy the only ones privy to the punch line. He sensed the two other hunters suspected all wasn't what it claimed to be, but the fun he received from Sam's panicked mind made up for any small tendrils of danger he was currently swimming in. Irving knew he would, eventually, have to slink away from his present pool of fun, but for as long as possible, he would enjoy it and load up on the undeniable power it supplied to him. Thanks to the damn angel if ignorance, Gabriele, this type of fun had been denied to his kind for far too long.

"Thank you, Irving." Jackie stated simply.

Dean shook his head.

"Let's get a few things straight, kay." Dean began his tone leaving no room for interruption or argument.

"One: My little brother is NOT crazy. Two: if you cared about him at all, you never would have force fed him those drugs. And three: I've taken care of my kid brother my entire life and there is _nothing_ I wouldn't do to help him."

Dean's eye's darkened.

"NOTHING."

Jackie cleared her through, which had suddenly gone surprisingly dry.

"We are not trying to say you would ever hurt your brother, Mr. Singer."

"Deeeaannn." Irving whined, his slithery smile once again adorning his face. "We're all friends here. "Mr. Singer is just soooo formal. As I said earlier we all want what Sam deserves here. Nothing could be further from the truth."

"Whatever." Dean stated pulling his keys from his pocket and unlocking the Impala's door.

Realizing the moment was over, Jackie turned to Irving and gave him a soft smile, clearly giving her non-verbal thanks for handling what could have been a very uncomfortable situation.

"Well, Irving, I will leave you to it. Take care of the Singer's for me and I'll make sure to let the administrator know how generous you've been considering this whole situation. You really are a Godsend."

"Ah Dr. Jackie, you're just to kind." Irving stated, brushing her ivory cheek with his large hand.

"Don't you worry, ma'm, I'll take good care of the Singer's here. They will have my full and undivided attention on their way home. I'll do whatever I can to make sure Sam is well taken care of before I return. You have my word."

Jackie smiled and made one more attempt to calm the men before her.

"As I stated before, the chair is Sam's until you can arrange something more permanent for him. Just bring it back when other arrangements have been made. Also," Jackie glanced at Irving, "Irving has been given the needed toiletries you will require for Sam for the next week. I'm assuming by that point you will have met with a doctor and formulated a plan of personal care for him that will allow him to be properly looked after in concerns of his personal needs. Sam is able to eat on his own, but," she stopped, momentarily taking in the look of sorrow that adorned the helpless young man's eyes, "Sam cannot move and that means his sanitary needs will need to be met by you, Mr. Singer. There is adult underwear in the supplies as well as moisture pads and cleaning products to help you with any mishaps you may encounter."

Dean felt his stomach drop and hit the cold hard ground below him. This had all happened so damn fast and fueled by his bubbling anger, he'd pushed the thought of Sam's impending disability to the back recesses of his mind, but the words Dr. Michaels had just fired at him turned his insides to jello'o. At least, Dean reasoned, Sam couldn't see or hear him so the process of cleaning him up and bathing him would be a little easier on the independent Winchester. One thing Dean had been made aware of the first time his little brother was able to do anything for himself was that Sam was nothing if not independent and there was no way him being bathed by his older brother and put in adult diapers was going to be an easy sell. Hell No!

Swallowing a lump of discontent so big it clogged his brain, Dean spoke, his voice not nearly as strong as it has previously been.

"Yeah, ah well, yeah, good, um." He cleared his throat. "Sam's not gonna need that stuff for very long, so it's not that big of a deal."

Sam felt Illness ravage his insides, not only was he isolated from any kind of communication between himself and the outside world, but it was devastating to watch Irving's eyes light up at Dr. Michaels' statement, the creature's evil joy radiating off him in waves of pure toxic pleasure. Add in the rush of hot, defeated air he felt expel from his brother's lungs at the realization Sam couldn't even piss on his own and he felt about as low as a salted slug.

Unbeknownst to them all, Bobby sat quietly taking in the scene before him, hidden securely by the shadows of his own disability. It was funny how people ignored you when you were strapped to a wheelchair, you were practically invisible. Once again able to observe things from a unique prospective, Bobby did not miss the evil gleam that came from Sam's nurse as Dr. Michaels explained the provisions to the kid's overworked brother. No more denying or second guessing now, one way or another, Irving was in up to his head in this whole ordeal. Now all the eldest hunter had to find out, was in what capacity.

Denial, Jackie thought. Oh well, at least she had done what she could to help Sam and now she was done with it.

"Ok then, I will be going back inside." Jackie looked Sam directly in the eyes. "Sam, if you can understand what I am saying to you, I am truly sorry that this has happened to you, but it seems you are in good hands now, so I will leave you in your brother and uncles capable hands."

She patted Sam's shoulder softly.

"Take care of yourself, Mr. Singer, I hope everything works out for you."

**Final A/N: I hope that this was up to standards and I REALLY hope to hear from you all and read your reviews. Thanks to everybody and have a wonderful day! Nicole **


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